Harry Potter Returns
by JBean210
Summary: Look! Up in the sky! It's an owl! It's a broom! It's Harry Potter! What's he doing flying around without a broom? Harry meets Superman under shocking circumstances and they are both a little mixed up-with each other.
1. The Kryptonian Who Fell to Litl Whinging

**Harry Potter Returns**

A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter One**

**The Kryptonian Who Fell to Little Whinging**

Harry Potter lay on his bed in the smallest bedroom in number four, Privet Drive, still smiling from the events of today: his return to King's Cross on the Hogwarts Express, and the reception his friends in the Order of the Phoenix had given his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They had said — in no uncertain terms! — that they would be checking in on Harry if he wasn't in contact with them at least once every three days.

Oh, it had not sat well with either of them, mind you! His uncle had swelled up and blustered, trying to intimidate the Order members, but men like Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody did not intimidate easily, especially not for someone like Vernon Dursley. He'd backed down quickly enough when Moody glared at him with his electric blue magical eye, and Aunt Petunia had whimpered piteously at the thought of these — these _freaks _— walking up to their house, while all the neighbors watched! She, Vernon and Dudley, who'd tried (and failed miserably) to hide behind his mother while Vernon was being dressed down by the Order members, had followed Harry out of King's Cross and to their car for the drive home.

Oh, he'd gotten an earful on the way home, to be sure. Vernon had ranted and carried on all the way back to Little Whinging, shouting that nobody better talk to him that way again, or he'd know the reason why! Harry merely sat in the rear seat, smiling, while Dudley pressed himself against the opposite side of the back seat, staying as far from Harry as possible, and Petunia sat stony-faced while Vernon turned the air inside the vehicle blue with his language. Once home, he was ordered up to his room without dinner, and the door locked behind him, but he didn't care. He had his trunk and Hedwig in her cage, and the window to his room was no longer locked or barred, so he could send her out with posts whenever he wanted.

Not everything was perfect, however. Sirius was dead. Harry was still numb about that. He'd talked to Nearly-Headless Nick, who'd told him his godfather would not return — only those who were afraid to go on, or felt they had unfinished business on Earth, remained as pale shadows of themselves among the living. A man like Sirius Black was neither fearful of what lay beyond, nor remiss in his affair with life, to return as a ghost.

It was only after talking with Luna Lovegood, who had lost her mother some years earlier, that he had regained a measure of hope. Luna fully expected to be with her mother again, someday. That surety, even though Luna was admittedly a bit…odd, had impressed Harry. He would see Sirius again one day, he now believed — and though he wished with all his heart that it could be sooner than later, for he loved the sense of freedom and fierce joy that Sirius had always embraced, he would not follow the path of recklessness that his uncle had lived. Because it had gotten him killed.

Hedwig was moving restlessly in her cage, and Harry sensed she wanted out, to feed. Rolling off the bed, he went over and opened the cage. "You hungry, or maybe you just want to stretch your wings after that long train ride," he said, stroking her head gently as she stepped onto his arm and he walked over to the window. He let her step onto his desk, then unlatched the window and pushed it opened. "I'll leave the window open for you. Just don't make too much racket when you come in — I'm going to sleep as late as I can tomorrow, while the Dursleys are still in shock over King's Cross."

She looked around at him and hooted gratefully, then took off. Harry watched he fly into the evening sky, finally disappearing in the darkness. Harry leaned out the window, checking up and down Privet Drive for activity. Most of the houses were dark; it was a sultry evening, and Harry guessed that everyone was in their air-conditioned houses, out of the heat that was still oppressive even at this late hour. With the window open, there was a slight breeze, however, making the heat almost bearable. He could hear the rumble of distant thunder; if a storm was coming in he might have to close the window after all. It would not be a pleasant night for sleeping, but Harry wasn't really sleepy at the moment anyway. He wasn't too keen on spending the night hanging out the window, however.

But as Harry glanced upward into the night sky, just as he decided to lie down again, he caught sight of a light that seemed different from the other stars in the sky that night. He watched it for several seconds, then realized it wasn't a star at all, but some type object. It seemed to be growing brighter, but was not moving laterally in any direction relative to Harry's viewpoint. That meant, Harry realized, that whatever it was, it was headed straight for him!

If it was some kind of meteor, and if it hit the house, or even anywhere near it, it could kill everyone inside — possibly damage even more houses if it was big enough!

For a moment Harry panicked — he didn't know what to do! Get the Dursleys out of the house? They probably wouldn't even listen to him — after what had happened at King's Crossing, they might even be afraid to talk to him! But no — his uncle had cussed him out pretty good on the way home. He would have to try.

But even as he started to pull his head in the window, to begin yelling for everyone to get out of the house, he saw the meteor begin to move. It was beginning to move directly over the house, heading west. When it passed out of sight over the top of the house, Harry tore out of his room, across the hallway, running full tilt into the door of Dudley's room. It was locked, but the doorjam cracked as he hit the door and bounced back. Harry stared at the door for a moment, then put his shoulder into it, and the door broke open. He dashed across Dudley's room, catching only a glimpse of Dudley lying on his bed watching telly, and threw open Dudley's window to look out it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Dudley shouted, sitting bolt upright and glaring at Harry with a combination of anger and fear.

"DUDLEY COME QUICK — LOOK!" Harry shouted, pointing out the window, which faced the west. He could see a trail of smoke across the sky, illuminated by flames coming from the meteor — it quickly disappeared over the edge of the house next door.

"_What the hell are you doing in my room_?!" Dudley shouted. He hadn't moved other than to sit upright. "Get out!"

"But —" Harry cut himself off, knowing it was useless. He tore back out of Dudley's room, across the hall and back into his own room. He wanted to find out where that meteor was headed!

"What the hell is going on up there?!" Vernon bellowed from downstairs. "Boy, you'd better be in your room when I get up there!" Harry heard his uncle stomping up the staircase.

He looked around wildly, trying to figure out how to go after that meteor. There was really only one way — his Firebolt! But he'd already carefully hidden it away between the slats and mattress of his bed. It made sleeping a bit uncomfortable, because he could feel the bulge of the broom beneath him at night, but he knew Dudley would never take the trouble to lift his mattress to find it. Besides, Dudley was nearly as scared of magic as his parents were, especially since Hagrid had given him that pig's tail back when they first met, on Harry's eleventh birthday.

But Harry needed time to get the Firebolt out from under the bed, and he was nearly out of time! His uncle had reached the first landing, he could tell from the sound of his footsteps, and was mere moments from entering Harry's room. Well, he'd just have to hope he could sort out the mess he was about to cause. Taking out his wand, Harry pointed it at the door and said, "_Colloportus_!" just as Vernon slammed into it on the other side.

"Have you locked this door?!" Vernon was shouting. "Open it this instant!" _Not likely_, Harry thought. He heaved the mattress to one side, snatched up the Firebolt, then ran to the open window. Instead of trying to fly through it (knowing it was much too small an opening to try that), he pushed the broom through the window, holding on with both hands, then said "Up!" softly. The Firebolt rose into air, pulling Harry out of the window and into the air.

He rose until he reached the roof of number four, then had the Firebolt slide over so he could stand on it for a moment while he mounted the broom. Harry kicked off, rising into the night air, flying almost straight up to get altitude so he could find the smoke trail he'd seen.

He flew right into it.

Coughing, Harry popped out of the top of the smoke trail he'd flown through and stopped, hovering and looking around to get his bearings. Behind him, to the east, he could see the smoke trail beginning to dissipate; following it back, he saw it had clearly been headed straight down, toward his neighborhood, but the trail pulled up and continued west at a much shallower angle. A normal meteor wouldn't do something like that, Harry knew.

Turning to the west, Harry could see the meteor at the leading edge of the smoke trail. It seemed to be on fire, or at least glowing red-hot. Its angle of descent was now such that it would impact well away from the outskirts of Little Whinging — it would be several miles into the country, where not many people lived. That was good, Harry thought, since the chance of it hitting a house or inhabited area was minimal. Still, Harry wanted to follow it, to see the meteor itself once it impacted. And the smoke trail it was leaving behind would provide both a path for him to follow, and cover from anyone on the ground who might see him!

Harry urged the Firebolt forward, flying just above the smoke trail, and was soon traveling at its maximum speed, 150 MPH. The meteor (or whatever it was — Harry realized it must be some type of controlled object, or it couldn't have changed course the way it did over his house) was several miles ahead of him, and traveling nearly as fast. As Harry watched, it hit the ground at a shallow angle, making a sound like thunder, skidding perhaps the length of three Quidditch pitches before coming to rest. The ground on either side of the groove it dug was littered with small fires that burned with strange, actinic light. Harry landed a dozen yards from the object, trying to make out what he was seeing. It looked nothing like a chunk of rock, what he'd expected the meteorite to be.

It was as if someone had pulled one of the twinkling stars down from the sky. What he could see of the object seemed to be gleaming with its own internal light; there were large spires of what looked like crystal protruding from a central bulge that lay half-buried in the ground. The spires stood fifteen to twenty feet tall — Harry could only imagine how much of this thing was buried beneath the ground.

A sudden boom of thunder made him spin around, looking to see if another object had struck the earth. But the next moment he felt droplets of rain begin to splatter down on him, and lightning flashed above him. Within moments the few raindrops Harry felt turned into a torrential downpour. _Great_, Harry thought. _I use magic in my Muggle relatives' house and fly out here on my magic broom, risking expulsion from school (again!)_ _and now I'm going to get _rained_ on, too_!

Well, at least the rain was putting out some of the smaller fires along the groove dug by the object. Wiping rain off his glasses, Harry made his way around the object until he came to its leading edge; it was there he came upon his second surprise of the night.

A hatch door had been ejected; it lay several yards from the side of the object. A yellow light was coming from the opening; above it was an oval of green light. And lying across the threshold of the hatch was — a man.

Harry hesitated only a moment, then dropped the Firebolt and ran forward to where the man lay. He was wearing a dark, skin-tight suit; at first Harry thought it was a wetsuit, like scuba divers used, but on closer inspection saw it was composed of some kind of cloth, and it was covered in dust and grime. He could also hear a soft panting, as if the man were gasping for breath. "Hello?" Harry said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

The man turned his head to face Harry; he saw that the man was fairly young, and handsome, with hair as black as Harry's own, and blue eyes that were filled with pain. The rain was coming down hard on both of them now, running down the man's face and spotting Harry's glasses. "H-help me," the man said, his voice almost a whisper. "K-kryptonite — must g-get it away."

"Kryptonite?" Harry repeated. "I don't know what that is — what's it look like?"

"Green — green rock," the man said, his voice faltering. "It — glows. Weakened me as…as I entered solar system. It must be somewhere on the ship's hull."

But Harry had already located the kryptonite. "It's right above you!" he said.

There was flash of light and a thunderous crash resounded, very close to them. Harry looked around quickly, seeing that lighting had struck a tree a few dozen yards away. The tree had been blown apart. Harry looked around for other trees, but the tallest object around now was the spires rising out of this object. They would have to get away from it before lightning struck _it_.

"Come on, we've got to move!" He put an arm under the man's shoulder and heaved. _This guy is _heavy, Harry thought. _I may have to use my wand_. _Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, as Ron might say_. Harry took out his wand, pointed it toward the man, and said clearly, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The man lifted slowly into the air, his legs coming out of the hatch until his feet were just touching the ground. "What — what are you doing?" the man asked, looking down at himself. "How am — am I flying?"

"You're not flying," Harry said. He reached out, taking the man by the arm, to pull him along. "It's — well, never mind what it is, we've got to get away from this thing —"

At that moment a bolt of lighting struck one of the spires, the one jutting out of the body of the object just above the hatch. An arc of green-tinted electricity jumped from the green rock above the hatch, striking the man. Electricity surged through Harry's body as well, and he saw only a flash of green explode before his eye, then darkness.

***

Harry awoke feeling…strange. He was lying on the ground next to the man from the meteor-object, who was beginning to move as well. Harry felt drained, sluggish — probably not unusual considering he'd just been struck by lightning! It was still raining, but the downpour had dwindled to a mild shower.

Sitting up, Harry looked around. They had both fallen a few feet from the side of the object, Harry could see the green crystal still glowing over the hatch door. He got slowly to his feet, then took a step toward it, but a wave of nausea passed through him and he stepped back. Feeling a little better, he knelt down next to the man and asked, "Can you move?"

The man looked up at him. "Yes, I think so." Getting slowly to his feet, he began moving down the slope of muddy earth gouged by the object's impact, with Harry holding his arm. Strangely, as they moved away from the craft, Harry began to feel better. The weakness and nausea he'd felt disappeared by the time they were a dozen yards from the hatchway of the object, or craft, or whatever it was.

But the man was still looking unwell; he moved unsteadily, as if weak, and kept looking back at the object until they had covered a dozen more yards. "Stop," he finally said, and Harry quit walking.

"How do you feel?" the man asked him, looking at Harry closely.

"Better," Harry replied. "A _lot_ better, in fact. I feel great!" He looked up at the man who, now standing, was quite a bit taller than him. "Once we moved away from that — that, er, whatever-it-is," he said, "I began to feel better immediately!"

"Strange," the man looked back at the object again. "You shouldn't have felt anything at — kryptonite radiation only affects…" he fell silent, seeming to ponder something. After a moment, he reached down and picked up a fist-sized piece of rock. "Hold out your hand."

"Why?" Harry asked, eyeing the rock.

"I'm going to put this rock in your hand," the man said. "I want you to try and crush it in your hand."

Harry gave him a look of disbelief. "You're joking!"

"No," the man said, looking serious. "Just try, at least."

After a moment Harry, figuring he had nothing to lose, held out his hand. The man placed the rock in his palm and said, "Now squeeze your hand shut."

Harry closed his hand. The rock crumbled as if it were made of dry ashes. "Whoa," Harry breathed. "How did I do _that_?!"

"I think," the man replied, "that something happened as you were getting me out of my ship."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, emphatically. "We were hit by lightning! I'm surprised we survived!" He looked at the pulverized rock in his hand. "Well, maybe this was a bit more surprising." He looked up at the man. "What do you think happened?"

"The lightning hit one of the spires, then exited it near the base, through the chunk of kryptonite embedded in the side of the ship, striking me. You had just taken hold of my arm, to pull me away from the ship." He smiled at Harry. "I should have thanked you for that sooner — I don't know how much longer I could have lasted, that close to kryptonite."

"No problem," Harry said. "But, er —" he glanced at the gravel in his hand. "Can we get back to how I could have done this?"

The man nodded, becoming serious again. "I was weakened by the kryptonite, and the lightning seems to have acted as a conduit, transferring some of my power to you. I don't know how much, but I do feel weaker than I should, this far from that kryptonite."

"Sorry," Harry said. "I — wait a moment, I finally remembered who you are!" He'd been staring at the symbol on the man's chest, barely visible under the grime and dust covering it. "You're that bloke Superman, from America!"

The man didn't answer, but he nodded once. Harry looked back at the ship, then back at the Man of Steel. "I seem to remember that you left Earth, years ago. It was right around the time I started Ho— er, secondary school," he corrected himself automatically. "So, you're back?"

"I left Earth to find out for certain what had happened to my home planet, Krypton," Superman said. "Scientists believed they had discovered it orbiting the star Arcturus. I went there to see for myself, in this ship."

"I thought I read that you could fly in space," Harry said, remembering a few things he'd seen on this strange visitor from another world.

"But not 36 light-years," Superman said, with a wry smile. "Besides, once I reached Krypton I would lose my powers, and die in the vacuum of space."

"What did you find out there?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

The man grew solemn. "I found a graveyard. There was nothing but an asteroid belt where Krypton would have been. Much of it consisted of chunks of kryptonite. I had brought along a spacesuit for EVA, but I dared not leave the protection of my ship and risk being exposed to its radiation. I explored the belt carefully for any signs of Krypton's civilization, but there was nothing left. I turned my ship toward Earth."  
"How did you end up with that bit of — kryptonite, is it? — on your ship?" Harry asked.

"It must've hit my ship just before I went into stardrive," Superman mused. "I was inside the ship, mostly protected by it, until I entered the solar system and its radiation weakened me."

"And you think that the lightning bolt that struck us transferred some of your powers to me?" Harry continued, to make sure he understood. Superman nodded again, and Harry couldn't help but grin. "That's bloody brilliant!"

"I wouldn't put it that way," Superman said plaintively. "I learned how to use my powers — and how to control them — since I was a young boy. I've had to be very careful around people, both when I touch them and anything else, since everything is like ash or fine crystal in my grip. You'll have to learn to be very careful, um —" the Man of Steel gave Harry an inquiring look. "I sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said.

"Harry, if you don't mind," Superman said. "I would like to ask you a personal question."

"Sure," Harry replied. "Go ahead."

"What were you doing out here with a broom?" Superman asked, pointing to Harry's Firebolt, which lay on the ground not far from where they stood.

"Uhh —" Harry didn't know what to say to that, but the man went on without waiting for him to answer.

"You also pointed something at me — something like a stick, or wand — and said something, and I began to float in the air," he continued. "That suggests that you can control magical forces."

"You know about magic?" Harry asked, warily. "Not many people do."

"My father, Jor-El, gathered extensive information from the 28 known galaxies and sent it with me to Earth," Superman told him. "He had also gathered much information on Earth and he believed it was the best place to send me when Krypton exploded. There are certain humans that have the capability of generating and using magic."

"Well, you're right about that," Harry said. There was no use lying about it, not to this man. "I'm a wizard."

"How long have you been a wizard?" Superman asked.

"My entire life, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. "Though I didn't find out 'til I was eleven — when I got a letter inviting me to attend a special school — Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry — from Hagrid. He's the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds, and the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, too," Harry added, now almost eager to share information with Superman, now that he knew what Harry was. "Hagrid was the one that told me I was a wizard. He knew my mom and dad, before they were killed."

"Your parents are dead?" Superman asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"Yes," Harry replied, now uncomfortable that this subject had come up. It reminded him that his godfather, Sirius Black, had just been killed by his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. "They were killed by a Dark wizard named Voldemort."

"I…see," Superman said, slowly. "Dark wizards are considered evil, then?"

"Very," Harry nodded. "And Voldemort has been the most evil wizard we know of. He almost gained control of Wizarding Britain, until he was stopped by — me, though it was really due to my mother."

"I guess I don't understand," Superman said, after several moments of silence. "Can you explain?"

"Voldemort attacked my parents when I was a little over a year old," Harry said. "He killed my father, then came after me. My mother tried to protect me, but he killed her as well. But, as my headmaster explained to me, before she died she placed an ancient enchantment on me that would protect me if she died."

"How do you know this?" Superman asked, intrigued. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I was told by the headmaster at my school, Professor Dumbledore, what happened. He also told me," Harry added, his voice becoming flinty, "that he placed me with my only blood relative, my Aunt Petunia, who was my mother's sister, in order to keep me safe from Voldemort's allies."

"How does that keep you safe?" Superman asked.

"He placed an enchantment on me," Harry replied, "that when a blood relation of mine accepted me into their home, would extend the protection my mother gave me to their home and land. My aunt accepted me — unwillingly, I can tell you that! — but since she did accept me, as long as I can call their house my home, the protection of my mother continues."

"Hm," Superman said, nodding. Then he looked at Harry and said, "I can't pretend to understand everything you've told me tonight, but —"

"Well, I suppose it's perfectly understandable," Harry cut over him, unthinkingly, "that I'm standing here in the middle of a field talking to super-powered man from another planet, next to his spaceship, I get hit by _lightning_, and not only do I survive, but some of his superpowers have jumped into _me_!"

Superman managed a chuckle at that. "I see your point, Harry. All the same, before we talk any more, I would like to cover our tracks. No one can find this ship here." He looked around at the various small fires still burning around them. The rain had nearly stopped by now. "Can you put out these fires?" Harry nodded. "Good," Superman said, "I'm going to find some lead."

"Lead?" Harry asked, looking around at the fires. "What for —" but by the time he'd turned back the Man of Steel had disappeared. Harry shook his head, wondering if the Kryptonian could Apparate, then reached for his wand.

At the last moment, remembering the rock he'd crushed, Harry grasped his wand as carefully as he could. If he paid attention to what he was doing, it seemed he could handle objects with what would be his normal human strength. He pulled out the wand, pointed it at the nearest fire, and said "_Aguamenti_!"

A geyser of water blasted out of Harry's wand, almost jerking it from his hand. "Whoa!" Harry said, and the geyser stopped. _Wow_, he thought, _I was thinking I'd need a lot of water, but not _that_ much_! He tried again, toning down the amount of water he expected, and a strong stream of water issued from his wand, dousing fire after fire as he moved alongside the groove carved out by Superman's ship.

He'd reached the far end of the ditch, and was crossing over to the other side to begin putting out the fires there, when Superman suddenly landed beside him, carrying two large squares of lead sheathing under his arm. "You can fly?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes," Superman said. "Didn't you know that about me?"

"I guess I did," Harry shrugged. "But wizards can't fly unaided. I suppose I just never thought about anyone really doing it."

"Well, now do you believe a man can fly?" Superman asked him, seemingly amused.

"Oh, definitely," Harry said, emphatically.

"Good," Superman said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, our first order of business is to neutralize that kryptonite."

"What about these fires?" Harry asked, pointing to the blazes still burning on one side of the ditch. "I'm still putting them out."

"I can handle them," Superman said, turning to face the several hundred yards of fires burning between them and the ship. "Stay behind me."

He took a deep breath, and Harry watched with wonder as the flames seemed to sway toward them, as if there was a wind blowing their way. The next moment Superman exhaled, and Harry gasped. A veritable hurricane of icy cold air blew from between his lips, and all the fires still burning were almost immediately snuffed out!

"That was…brilliant," Harry finally said, when he got his voice back. "D'you think _I_ can do stuff like that, too?"

"That's something I'd like to find out," Superman told him. He hefted the sheets of lead. "But first, we have to take care of that kryptonite."

"What's the plan?" Harry asked.

"First, take my hand," Superman said, offering Harry his right hand. When Harry reached for it the Man of Steel said, "With your left hand, Harry, so we're standing side by side."

"Okay," Harry said, feeling a bit ridiculous. "But I must warn you, I have it on good authority that I'm a lousy dancer."

Superman laughed. "I'm not very good at it, either, to tell the truth. But we're not going to dance."

Harry looked at him. "Then what are we going to do?"

"Fly," Superman said. "Look down."

Harry looked down, and gasped again. They were ten feet off the ground, and rising! He grabbed Superman's hand with both of his own and hung on. "Don't worry," Superman said. "I've got you."

"Yeah," Harry said, anxiously. "But nobody's got _you_!"

"Just think of it as riding a broomstick…without the broomstick," Superman suggested. "We're not going far, just to the other side of my ship." They floated over to and around the ship, landing about fifty feet from the hatch where the chunk of kryptonite still glowed eerily green.

"Wow," Harry said as they touched down. "I can't believe I actually flew — with nothing holding me up but _you_!"

"If I'm correct about what happened with my powers," Superman said, "I think we'll find that you can do the same without any assistance from me.

"But, first things first," Superman continued. "We need to take care of that kryptonite. He took one of the lead plates and tossed it toward the craft. It landed about ten feet from the craft, on a line directly between Harry and the kryptonite. "What we want to do," he told Harry, "is to get the kryptonite onto that lead plate. Harry, do you know any magic that could pull that chunk free from the craft?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Maybe a Levitation Charm — but I don't know if it'll work if the kryptonite is stuck there. I could do a Summoning Charm, but we don't want it getting too near us." Suddenly, he was hit by a blinding flash of the obvious. "I just realized," he said, annoyed that he hadn't thought of it right off. "I can cast a Reduction Charm on it! It should fall right out of the hole it made when it hit your ship!" He gauged the distance between himself and the chunk of glowing green crystal. "I need to get a bit closer, though — I might miss at this range."

"Okay," Superman said. "We can use this other sheet of lead for protection. I don't think you'll want to get any closer than about 20 feet, though — any closer and the kryptonite's radiation will begin to affect us."

Harry nodded and began walking slowly forward, Superman at his side and holding the lead plate in front of him to help shield him from the radiation. At about 20 feet away they stopped, and Harry nodded to Superman, then pointed his wand at the kryptonite and said, "_Reducio_!" The kryptonite shrunk from a fist-sized lump to the size of a pea, then fell onto the ground in front of the hatch. Harry pointed his wand again and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" and the pea-sized lump floated into the air, then slowly toward them, where the first lead plate lay. Harry landed the kryptonite in the middle of the plate. "Should I restore it back to its original size?" Harry asked Superman.

"You're the wizard, Harry," Superman replied "Whatever you think is best."

"I think so," Harry said. "I don't know what would happen if the spell wore off after we put the lead around it." By now it was obvious what Superman intended — he was going to embed the kryptonite between the two sheets of lead. "_Engorgio_!" he said, then felt a wave of nausea come over him as the crystal returned to its original size.

Superman had felt it as well. "The radiation decreased when it was smaller," he said, his voice sounding strained. "Now that it's back to its original size, the increased radiation is affecting us." He took the second plate and hit it several times in the center, forming a cavity. Harry winced with each blow, thinking about damage he'd do to his hands if he tried that — or at least _would_ do, if he had none of Superman's powers. The Man of Steel then took the plate in both hands and tossed it gently toward the first one; it landed directly on top of the first plate and the chunk of kryptonite.

"Nice throw," Harry commented.

"Thanks," Superman replied. "Now to seal the plates together." As Harry watched, amazed, red beams seemed to emanate from Superman's eyes, moving around the edge of the plates, which softened and flowed together. Within a few seconds the two plates were welded together. Superman walked over, picked up the plates, and compressed the flat edges of the plates into a sphere. When it was done it looked like he was holding an oversized Bludger, one made out of lead instead of iron.

"There," he said, tossing the sphere into the air a few times, like a ball. He made it look effortless, but Harry knew a lead sphere of that size must weigh hundreds of pounds. "I can study this later, but we still have to get my ship out of here."

"Can't you just fly it out of here?" Harry wondered. "Or is it wrecked?"

Superman pondered for a moment. "It should still fly. If we're going to do that, though, we should probably take it where no one will find it."

"Where's that?" Harry asked.

"My fortress," Superman replied.

***

The interior of the spacecraft was arranged for the comfort of a single passenger, but Superman touched a few crystals set in what Harry guessed was the "control panel," and another seat formed next to the first one. Once Harry was seated, Superman nodded at him and reached forward to touch one of the crystal controls in front of them.

"Here we go," he said, and the ship shook momentarily as it lifted out of the crater it had dug. The ship moved upward, gaining altitude slowly, until they were about 100 feet in the air. "I'll be right back," Superman said, rising and walking to the hatch, which he'd replaced on the ship.

"Wait a minute!" Harry spun around to face him. "Where are you going?"

"I have to fill in the damage made by the ship, or someone's going to see it and wonder what made a skid mark that big and deep," Superman told him. He pointed to the view screen in front of Harry. "I've adjusted the forward view so you can watch me do it." His hand passed over a crystal stud and the hatch opened. Superman leaped out of it into the sky.

As Harry watched, spellbound by the performance, Superman pushed all of the dirt that had been displaced by the ship back into the ditch, until the only way to tell it had been there was a long patch of bare ground, devoid of any grass. Superman began remedying that as well, flying off to different areas and returning with patches of turf, which he trimmed to the same height as the surrounding grass, using his heat vision, and set in place, filling in the bare spot with grass.

When it was all finished, the area looked almost as it would have before the ship crashed there; the only thing that was different was the patches of burnt grass. Harry glanced at his watch — the entire operation had taken only about two minutes!

A few seconds later Superman returned to the ship through the hatch, closing it behind him. "That was pretty amazing," Harry remarked as the Man of Steel sat down beside him.

Superman gave him a diffident look. "It would have been better if I'd been able to bring the ship down where I'd wanted, instead of here. I missed by several thousand miles."

"Where were you planning to land?" Harry asked, curiously.

"In America," Superman said. "Near where I grew up."

"Where's that?" Harry asked automatically.

Superman gave him a wry smile and a slight shrug. "Oh, I get it," Harry said. "You don't want anyone to know, right?"

"Something like that." Superman glanced over the controls. "I think we'll make better time and avoid most of any radar detection if we make the trip above the atmosphere."

Harry blinked. "Where's your fortress at, anyway?" he asked.

"In Antarctica," Superman said. "We can be there in a few minutes, once I get us out of the atmosphere."

Harry felt the ship move upward, but the gentle push he felt did not match the view screen's display, which showed them rocketing upward a thousand miles in a matter of seconds. Superman touched another control and the ship began moving in a lateral direction; a display on the view screen showed their position on a map of the Earth. They were moving out over the Atlantic Ocean, then southward. As Harry watched the dot of light indicating their position, it moved slowly down the Atlantic, taking perhaps five minutes before it approached the large bay that faced the Atlantic.

"Luckily, it's night in the Antarctic right now," Superman said, touching another control. "We might be caught on some radar screens, but no one will be able to make a visual ID unless they're waiting for us where we land."

The ship began its descent. This time, Superman took it down slow, avoiding superheating the atmosphere with the ship's passage. A few minutes later, the ship touched down on the icy ground. "We're here," Superman said, simply.

"Thank you for flying Super-Air," Harry quipped. "I have to admit, though, that as fast as we were going, I still prefer my broom." A sudden though struck him. "Oh, no!" he said, smacking his forehead with his palm. "I forgot my broom!"

"No, it's here," Superman said, opening a compartment to show Harry where he'd stowed the Firebolt. "I picked it up on my way back to the ship after filling in the damage done by my last landing."

"Whew! I'm glad you did!" Harry said, gratefully. "I'd hate to lose this broom, it was given to me by my…godfather…" his voice trailed off.

Superman was looking at him, concern in his eyes. "Has something happened to your godfather, Harry?" he asked, quietly.

Harry nodded, once, a short jerk of his head. "Yeah. He died. About a week ago. He was — was killed by his own cousin, a foul, evil woman who enjoys torturing people!" Harry shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore! It's bad enough it happened — thinking about it only makes me wonder what I could have done to stop it?"

"Harry, I'm sorry," Superman said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry looked up at the Man of Steel, his green eyes brimming with pain and sorrow. "I know it's hard losing someone you love. I lost my father when I was not much older than you, and it took me several months to cope with it. My mother is still alive, though, and I thought of her every day while I was gone." He turned away for a moment, looking pensive. "I should probably let her know I've returned. But we have a few things to do, first. Are you okay?"

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine, no problem." That was probably a lie but like Superman had said, he had to learn to cope with Sirius's death, just as Superman had done with his father's death.

Nodding, Superman turned to the hatch door and touched a crystal stud on the wall. The hatch opened, then expanded so that either of them could walk through it upright. Meanwhile, the hatch had extended itself into a ramp that reached the ground. "Follow me," he said to Harry, then stepped out onto the ramp.

Harry stepped out onto the ramp, and gasped once again. There were dozens, _hundreds_ of crystal spires extending into the air, crisscrossing each other in a manner that seemed to form a roof of some sort. There were steps that led inside the crystal structure, steps Superman was walking briskly towards. "This — is your fortress?" Harry asked, awed by its size and sheer presence.

"My Fortress of Solitude," Superman said, with a small smile. "I moved it here before I left Earth; its location had become known to a few — well, crooks — and I did not want them to have access to it any more. It would be an arduous journey for most humans to reach it now, due to the mountains surrounding it."

"How cold is it in here?" Harry asked, looking around. His breath was visible as he spoke, as was Superman's, but the most he felt was a coolness on his bare skin.

"Since it's winter here, it's probably about 80 below zero right now," Superman estimated. "But I haven't set the climate inside the Fortress since I left. He walked over to a crystalline control panel and touched several crystals. Harry could feel the air around him growing warmer. Within a few moments any coolness he'd felt was gone. Now the temperature seemed perfect.

"I set it for about 70 degrees Fahrenheit," Superman told him. He crossed his arms, looking at Harry for a moment. "Now I think it's time for us to discuss what we're going to do about the powers that were transferred from me to you."

Harry just nodded. He had no idea how Superman was going to get his powers back, or if he even _could_ get them back. "Whatever you want," he said to the Man of Steel. "But I think you ought to know, it also affected my magic as well."

"How?" Superman asked.

"It's a lot more powerful now," Harry said, taking out his wand. I was using this to spray water on the fires at the crash site, and it gushed out in _gallons_ per second, not the small, steady stream I was expecting."

Superman nodded, thinking. "That might be a side effect of my powers, that they're super-energizing your magic as well."

"Well, it's funny you say that," Harry remarked, now that he'd had time to consider. "But even though I can do a lot more powerful magic than before, it actually feels like I have less magic in me, like I'm weaker than normal Oh —" Harry suddenly realized what that might mean. "Do you think some of my magical ability might have been transferred to _you_, Superman?"

"I don't know, Harry," the Man of Steel said, looking at his hands. "I don't feel any different than before, except for the drain on my powers. Do you have any way to test your idea?"

"I think so," Harry said, not sure if it would work. He knew the Human Revealing Charm was _Homenum Revelio_; but if he substituted the word for wizard, _Veneficus_, the charm might reveal only wizards and witches. "Let's see what happens — _Veneficus Revelio_!"

The tip of his wand flashed blue, and Superman began to glow blue as well. Harry noted he was glowing as well, though probably twice as brightly as Superman was. "I think that tears it," he said, ending the spell. "Some of my magical ability leeched off into you, somehow."

"I suppose that makes sense," Superman said, pondering the implications. "That's why we both feel weaker than normal with our respective abilities."

"But you don't know anything about using magic," Harry said, then shrugged. "Well, I guess I don't know anything about using your powers, either."

"We'll both have to be careful," Superman suggested. "Is it possible for me to perform magic without a wand?"

"Well, sometimes," Harry admitted. "But you have to be pretty upset or agitated before that happens. I got mad at my Aunt Marge once, and blew her up."

Superman frowned. "You mean she exploded?" he asked sharply.

"No, no," Harry explained quickly. "I mean she blew up like a big balloon, and floated away. The Ministry of Magic had to fetch her back and remove her memories of the experience. My uncle was _very_ upset with me after that — she's his sister."

"I guess I can understand that," Superman said. He put his hands on his hips and looked around the Fortress for a moment. "Well, Harry, let's get starting showing you how your new powers work."

***

An old, old woman lay on her deathbed, smiling up at her loving husband. He looked down on her, his face showing concern and compassion, things her family said he did not possess. They were wrong, she knew — how else could he have loved her as he did? Even now, she could hear the other people in her extended family — her younger brothers, her children, her children's children, and probably her children's children's children, milling about outside her room, trying to convince her to let them in to see her, to tell her she was wrong when she knew she was right.

Downstairs, in the foyer of the Vanderworth home, a young woman with dark hair in a French maid's uniform dusted the display cases, pictures, and mirrors lining the walls. Every so often she would glance upward, listening to the efforts of Gertrude Vanderworth's many family members to gain entrance to her bedroom, to persuade her not to sign her fortune over to her new, younger husband.

In the sitting room adjoining Gertrude's bedroom, her two younger brothers were plotting post-Gertrude strategy over cold coffee and cigarettes.

The first brother, a long-retired medical doctor, fumed about their lost opportunities to have his older sister declared incompetent to make her own decisions. "We should have gotten guardianship the moment she started corresponding with that — that hoodlum!" he rasped, setting off a coughing fit. He was only two years younger than Gertrude — his only goal now was to make sure that if he wasn't going to get any of the Vanderworth fortune, neither would the man who'd married her three years ago, after his release from prison.

The second brother, an attorney, handed his older brother a handkerchief to cover his mouth while coughing. He was nearly as bad as Gertrude was, the lawyer thought privately, revolted at the decrepit state both his older brother and sister were in. At 75, fifteen years younger than Gertrude, he was still in relatively good health. When his brother stopped coughing, he said, "He doesn't have a prayer, anyway, even if he does get her to sign a new will. I'll get it tied up in probate for years, he'll never see a penny of her money."  
"Good, good!" the older brother wheezed. "Conniving bastard!"

"Language!" one of his daughters said; her granddaughter was in the room. The older brother grunted but said nothing else.

"All the same," the younger brother muttered, almost to himself. "I'd like to get inside there and make _sure_ she hasn't signed a new will, yet." He walked over to the door, motioning for silence, to see if he could hear anything. The door was solid wood and quite thick, but if you listened carefully you could hear Gertrude talking.

"In spite of your past," he heard her saying. "I know you're a good man." He snorted. She had _no idea_ what the man she'd married three years ago was capable of. The lawyer gestured to one of his sons, also a lawyer, to come over and listen. His daughter came over as well, to hear what was going on.

"And all good men deserve a second chance…" Gertrude was saying. "From the moment I received you first letter, I knew you were not like the rest." His son and daughter looked at each other in disbelief. Did she not realize what _that man_ had tried to do, years ago, to the western seaboard?

"You came from…nothing," Gertrude was saying. "And you worked so hard to get where you are…You might have made a few mistakes…"

"A few _mistakes_?" the daughter hissed. "She's gone senile!"

The elder lawyer banged on the polished wood of her bedroom door. "Gertrude, for God's sake!" he yelled.

"Gertrude, let us in!" his son shouted, banging on the door as well.

Inside the room, Gertrude's husband smiled at her family's feeble attempts to stop him from doing what he'd already accomplished. The last signature would merely be icing on the cake, as it were. He looked back at Gertrude, still gushing praise for him. But he could already hear the death-rattle in her voice. If he was going to get that last signature, it would have to be soon. "You said that if I helped you get out of prison, you'd take care of me," she murmured.

"Mm-hmm," he said. _For the past three years, you old crone_.

"And you have," she continued. "You've shown me pleasures that I've never known." Luthor nodded, still remembering the revulsion he'd felt when doing…what he'd done. But the next thing she said, as he brought out the final papers for her to sign, made him forget everything he'd had to go through in the past three years, to get to this point.

"That's why you deserve…everything," she wheezed, as Lex slipped a fountain pen into her hand and positioned it where she was to sign.

"I love you, Lex Luthor," she said, feeling at once peaceful and tired. At last, after ninety years, she was ready to move on. Her hand moved, with his help, signing her name, until she felt her last breath slip away.

As the old crone died, Lex suppressed a grimace. She had only signed her first name! Well, he hadn't spent all that time in prison exchanging letters with her for nothing. He'd also spent a fair amount of time learning to copy her signature. He added "Vanderworth" after her first name, then pocketed the fountain pen.

He glanced toward the foot of the bed, where her two little dogs were lying. "Goodbye, you two mutts," he whispered. He pulled the wedding ring off his finger and dropped it into a glass containing her teeth. He glanced at the signature on the document he held. It should hold up, he thought. It was not as if they could ask her whether she'd signed it or not, could they?

Outside, Gertrude's family were still trying to get into the room. "Gertrude, let us in!" he heard them calling. "He doesn't love you!" another one said. "He's a crook!" "He's a monster!" a woman's voice screeched. Luthor smiled. Oh, if only they knew the monstrous plans he had in mind for Gertrude's money…

When he opened the door they all fell back in shock, staring at him as he stepped into the doorway. Luthor looked around the room at the hate-filled eyes of the Vanderworth family, a family now wondering how much trouble it was going to take if he'd managed to get her to sign a new will.

A little girl on his right glared malevolently at him. Smiling at her, Luthor plucked off his brown hairpiece and dropped it into her lap. "You can keep that," he said, watching as her eyes grew large with fear. "The rest," he said to the others, as the little girl began screaming, "is _mine_."

"You won't get away with this, Luthor!" the elder lawyer growled, as Luthor stepped past him. "We'll contest any changes to her last will as made under duress, or while not competent! We'll tie up the estate for years! You'll never see a damned penny of it!"

"A will?" Luthor repeated, looking surprised. "She had a will? She and I never discussed any changes to it, actually. However, what we have been discussing, over the past three years, was setting up TOD and JTROS clauses on all of her investments and properties."

The elder lawyer and his son both blanched. "What does that mean?" the lawyer's daughter asked, shrilly. "What did he _do_?"

The younger lawyer answered. "Transfer-on-Death and Joint Tenancy with Right of Survivorship," he said, looking bleakly at his sister. "It means he owns anything that has those clauses added to the account or deed."

"And that means everything," Luthor said. He held up the final document. "This gives me clear title to the mansion and all her personal property within it. When the younger lawyer tried to grab it from his hand, Luthor snatched it away. "Ah-ah!" he said, wagging a finger at the man. "You can read it _after_ my attorney has filed the necessary paperwork."

He walked on through the crowded room, stopping at the door and turning to face them. "I'd like to tell you all what an interesting three years it's been, but I doubt if you'd believe me, especially since you're all now pretty much destitute."

"What do you mean," one of Gertrude's granddaughter said, a middle-aged woman who'd been scowling furiously at him ever since he appeared at the mansion three years ago, when he finally got out of jail. "We all have accounts, worth _millions_!"

"But," Luthor added. "They all had Gertrude's name on them as primary account holder, and she was able to change the TOD clauses on them." The granddaughter's face went white as she realized the implications.

"Now, I hate to pillage and run," Luthor said, jovially, "But I do have places to be and people to see, so I hope you'll excuse me. However, a few of my…security personnel...will be arriving momentarily, to escort you all to the door, and make sure none of the silverware gets carried out or anything of that sort, if you know what I mean." Luthor stepped out of the doorway, into the hall.

As if on cue, four men strode into the room. All four were carrying police batons and pistols. "Everybody outta the house!" the biggest one shouted, as two of the other men began herding people toward the door. The fourth man waited at the top of the stairs leading to the main foyer and entrance. "Hands in pockets!" the big man shouted, over the screams of the Vanderworth clan. "If we see a hand with somethin' in it, we bust that hand!" The man in front led everyone down the stairs, then pointed to the front door, which stood open; the young woman in the French maid uniform stood beside it, beckoning them to pass through. The last person down was the elder brother, the retired doctor — two of the men had guided his wheelchair rather unceremoniously down the steps and out the front door.

"Make sure everyone leaves, Brutus," Luthor told the big man. "Then have Stanford wait for the coroner. We want to make sure _the_ old lady's death is recorded, everything by the book." Brutus nodded, grinning, and went downstairs.

Luthor followed at leisure, looking at the various paintings and statues that littered the hallways of Gertrude's — and now his — mansion. He could appreciate fine art, but he also appreciated the amount of money that could be realized from selling them. Petty cash, really, compared to what was now available to him, but not long from now, he'd have something much more precious than all the money and fine art in the world.

Kitty, the young woman in the French maid's uniform, whom Luthor had brought into the Vanderworth household six months ago, was his newest female associate. After two years in prison, and over two years of living with Gertrude Vanderworth, he was more than ready for a little female companionship, even one as young as Miss Kowalski. What she lacked in intelligence, she more than made up in…companionship.

She was standing there, feather duster in hand, at the bottom of the steps, a small smile on her lips as she waited for him to say what she knew he would, after all this time.

"We're done," he said, walking past her, and she turned and followed him out the front door, pausing only long enough to remove her maid's cap and drop it on the floor, along with the feather duster.

Outside, she stood beside Lex as he watched his four accomplices directing the Vanderworth clan off the estate. "What now, Lex?" she asked.

"Now," Luthor said, a smile creasing his features. "It's time to get busy."

"Is that all you can think about?" Kitty said, a bit annoyed.

He looked at her, an eyebrow raised in surprised. "I don't mean _that_," he said. "We have a lot to prepare for — I've been planning this since before I got out of prison. Now, are you ready to go, or do you want to stay here with rest of the relics?"

Kitty shivered. Sometimes Lex could be so…cold. Other times… He was like fire and ice. Perhaps that was what attracted her to him. That, and the intelligence. "I'm ready to go, Lex."

"Good," he said, opening the door to the Bentley that he'd picked out of Gertrude's stable of classic vehicles. He climbed in behind her and said to the driver, Grant, "Let's go see our new yacht."


	2. The Man Who Came to Antarctica

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Two  
****The Man Who Came to Antarctica**

"What does this thing do?" Harry asked curiously, looking at the crystalline device he and Superman were standing in front of. There was a flat crystal disk on the floor; above it was a large crystal rod that rose upward, disappearing into the other crystals that formed a ceiling above them.

"I use it sometimes as a weight machine," Superman said, touching some crystals cylinders jutting from a nearby flat crystalline panel. "It's also measures strength — I use it to compare my current strength to my peak strength, when I'm at 100 percent power. I'm going to use it now to see how much of my powers have been transferred to you, Harry."

Harry nodded, though the gesture was automatic — he understood very little of what he saw in this place. As strange and exciting as Diagon Alley and Hogwarts had been when he'd first seen them, they were nothing compared to this place, even though in some ways it was much more plain than any of the wizarding places he'd been to in the past five years. "What else do you do around here, Superman?" Harry asked, looking around as the Man of Steel prepared the device for use.

"Do?" Superman seemed to ponder the question for a moment. "Well, I haven't done anything here for the past five years, since I've been gone all that time," he finally answered. "But before, this place was sort of a — training camp, where I learned about my powers and where I originally came from."

"Just like the school I go to, Hogwarts, is where I'm learning to use magic," Harry said.

"Pretty much," Superman agreed. He touched a final crystal and a soft hum began to sound throughout the Fortress. "Okay, it's ready. I'm going to go first, Harry, then we'll see where you stand." He stepped into the device, raising his arms above his head, his palms flat against the long crystal rod above him. Harry noticed that Superman's costume was much brighter than it had been before — it was the familiar red-and-blue he remembered from a photograph he'd seen once on the telly. When had the man had time to change? "Watch the blue rod on top of the panel," he told Harry, then said, "Start."

The hum began to increase, and Harry saw the bottom of the blue rod begin to glow. The glow began to rise along the blue rod as the hum got louder and louder. At the same time, Harry noticed that Superman seemed to be straining against the rod above him, though it hadn't budged an inch. The blue glow was now halfway up the rod and still going. Superman's expression was strained — Harry could see his arms beginning to tremble, and his eyes widened in surprise. How much force was he exerting against that crystal rod?

The glow was getting close to the top of the blue rod when Superman's arms finally buckled. The hum shut down, and he stepped off the disk, looking at the glowing rod. "Hmm," he said. "Seventy-five percent of full strength — that's more than I expected."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, looking at the glowing blue rod as well.

"It means that I have about three-fourths of my original strength," Superman said, turning to look at Harry. "I expect when we have you take the strength test, you'll have about 25 percent of my full strength. Are you ready to give it a try?" he asked, smiling.

Harry looked up at the crystal rod that loomed above them. "Sure," he said, not feeling sure about it at all. "What do I have to do?"

"Just step onto the disk," Superman instructed him, "and raise your arms over your head, palms flat. I'll recalibrate the device to your height." Harry raised his hands and Superman moved a few crystals. The large crystal rod moved slowly down until it rested snugly against his hands. "All you have to do," Superman told him, "is to resist the push of the rod against your arms, keeping them locked and your legs straight. The force will increase until either your arms or legs give way. At that point the test is over, and the blue rod will display the percent of your strength compared against my optimal strength levels. When you're ready say 'Start'."

Harry took a deep breath. "Start," he said, and the crystal rod above him began pushing against his palms. At first it was no big deal, he hardly felt a thing, but as the blue glow of the rod on the display panel increased he felt more and more pressure against his hands. It crept upward, and Harry felt the tension in his arms and legs. Finally, when the blue glow had climbed about halfway up the rod, Harry could stand the pressure no more — his arms gave way. The hum of the device died away and Harry and Superman stared at the blue rod. It showed clearly more than a quarter of its length glowing.

"That's strange," Superman said. "Your strength measures at about 49 percent of my optimum level. But I topped out at 75 percent — those numbers add up to more than 100 percent."

"Could there have been a mistake?" Harry asked. He was rubbing his arms, which had felt strange as he stepped off the device — but now, mere moments later, the feeling had already passed; he felt completely fine already.

"No," Superman said, looking lost in thought. "Unless… it's because we also share your magical power as well, and it's having an effect on our strength levels." He turned to Harry. "Is there a way you can tell how much magical power you transferred to me?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "It's hard to tell — my magic is operating at a _way_ higher level than before, probably because of your powers inside me. But it _feels_ like I have about two-thirds of my magic, if I had to guess how much I lost."

"I don't have a way to measure magical levels," Superman said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if I can figure out some way to do that?"

"Perhaps I could be of assistance?" a deep, calm voice asked, and both Harry and Superman spun around to look at the tall, white-haired man who stood smiling at them.

"Professor!" Harry said, surprised.

Superman looked at the new arrival, then at Harry. "Do you know this man, Harry?" he asked, wondering how he had penetrated the Fortress's defenses.

"Yes," Harry said, both happy and a bit apprehensive to see him. "This is Professor Albus Dumbledore, my headmaster at Hogwarts."

"At your service," Dumbledore said to Superman, with a small bow.

* * *

Several thousand miles to the north, in Metropolis, a young woman and her son exited a cab outside the Daily Planet building. She handed the cabbie the fare and a modest tip, then took her son's hand and led him into the building. The boy carried an inhaler, and he held it to his mouth as his mother led him along, taking deep breaths as they hurried inside the building. The young woman, muttering under her breath about day-care centers, was almost to the elevators when a young man with reddish-brown hair hailed her, coming up behind them.

"Hey Lois! How's it going this morning?"

"Terrible, Jimmy," she replied curtly. "Jason's day-care center was closed this morning — too many safety violations."

"Gosh, that's too bad," Jimmy said, smiling at her son. "Hi, Jason."

"Hello, Mr. Olsen," Jason said, around his inhaler, then took another deep breath.

The three of them stepped into an elevator, then were pressed to the rear as it filled with other passengers on their way to work that morning. After a few moments of silence, Jimmy glanced over at Lois. "Kind of ironic, isn't it, though?"

"What is?" she asked, frowning.

"Well, you wrote that series a few months ago on day-care centers that weren't keeping up with safety standards for the children, right?" Jimmy pointed out. "And now _your_ day-care center…closes…because of…uh —" Jimmy fell silent as he saw the look on Lois's face.

"Yeah, I get it, Jimmy," she said, speaking in a low tone to keep her son from hearing the frustration in her voice. She was afraid he might take it as her being unhappy about him being here, which couldn't be further from the truth. She loved having him around, though he needed a lot of watching to make sure he took his medicine properly. Between her and Richard, however, they would manage for today, and hopefully find another day-care center by tomorrow or the next day.

The elevator slowly emptied out until there was only a handful of people, all of whom worked at the Planet. Several smiled at Lois or Jimmy; one passenger, Cat Grant, who wrote the Planet's gossip column, waved at Jason before they exited the elevator on the Planet's floor. Lois gave her a short smile, mostly for appearances' sake — she didn't care much for Grant, who'd spent some time circling her fiancé Richard before she got the message that he was taken.

Jason made a beeline for Richard's office — they could hear his shout of delighted surprise when the boy hurtled into his office and jumped into his lap. "Boy, he can sure move fast when he wants to," Jimmy commented, grinning at Lois. "He really likes Richard, doesn't he?"

"Of course," Lois spoke as if that fact should have been obvious. "Richard's his father."

"So," Jimmy said, holding up the camera dangling around his neck and looking around the newsroom. "When are you and he gonna get married?"

There was no reply, and Jimmy swung his camera around to look at Lois. She was glowering at him. She put her hand over the lens and pushed it down, looking him straight in the eye. "Jimmy, I've _told_ you not to keep asking me that!" she said firmly, in a tone that brooked no further comment from him. "Have you got that?"  
"Er, yes ma'am," Jimmy said meekly, chastised. "Sorry."

"Lane! Olsen!" a strident voice suddenly boomed out over the newsroom. "My office, now!"

"Coming, Mr. White!" Lois called, and she and Jimmy hustled into the offices of Perry White, Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet. White, a graying, dignified man, sat at his desk watching as Lois entered his office, sat down in a chair across from his desk, and casually asked, "What's up, Chief?"

"Nice of you two to make it in this morning," White replied, in an acerbic tone. "I was beginning to wonder if that Pulitzer Prize was going to your head, Lois, and you were out looking for a new job."

Lois just gave him a look — she knew Perry was having his little joke at her expense. For a while after Richard began working at the planet, Lois had considered finding employment elsewhere, as there was some tension between them over job assignments and who she was supposed to take orders from, especially after he was made assistant editor. They soon got those problems sorted out, however, and settled into a more-or-less normal routine, alternating weeks to bring Jason to and from daycare, and make sure he had his meds.

Jimmy, who had been silent to this point, grinned at the two of them, recognizing that the boss was just having a bit of fun with them. "C'mon, Chief," he said cheerfully. "You know Lois would never leave us."

White spared Jimmy barely a glance. "Olsen, don't call me chief!" he barked. Jimmy glanced at Lois, who shrugged imperceptibly — it was another sign of normalcy that Jimmy was the only person Perry White didn't want calling him "Chief" — it now seemed more like a running joke than actual dislike on Perry's part. "What are you working on now?" he asked the young photographer.

"Uh —" the question caught Jimmy flatfooted. He'd been floating for the past day or so, going out to take stock photographs for the city beat as needed. "Just —"

"Don't bother making something up," White cut him off. "I know what you've been doing — nothing."

"I've got the awards dinner coming up," Jimmy reminded him, referring to the ceremony for the Pulitzer Prizes being given out next month.

"Right," Perry snorted. "Presumably, however, you won't need an _entire month _getting ready to take those pictures, will you, Olsen?"

"No, sir," Jimmy said, in a small voice.

"Lot of important winners this year, Chief," Lois noted, and Perry gave her an ironic look. "Well, besides myself," she added hastily. "I mean —"

"I know what you meant," Perry said, waving off her explanation. "But your award is important, too. 'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman' came along at just the right time — it woke a lot of people up, made them start thinking about our planet in terms of what we can do for ourselves rather than what we expect someone to do for us.

"But it's still last year's news," he pointed out, leaning forward over his desk. "We're going to have to keep beating the bushes for new stories, keep ahead of the competition." He tossed a day-old copy of the paper across his desk to Lois. "Look at what's circled there," he told her.

"This?" Lois glanced at the article, momentarily confused. At first it looked like an obituary — one Gertrude Vanderworth, matriarch of the Vanderworth clan, had died the day before. But she saw the byline — Cat Grant — and realized this was from her gossip column. "What's Cat Grant doing writing obits?" she wanted to know.

"Keep reading," White prompted her. "It seems that when Mrs. Vanderworth passed away, the bulk of her estate went, not to her surviving family members, but to her current husband."

"Isn't that how that usually works?" Lois said, dryly.

"Yes, but nobody has any idea who the man is, and none of the family members are talking," White answered. "We've been searching the public records for a day now and haven't come up with a marriage certificate or notice for the past 25 years, since her previous husband died. Cat's still digging, but if she can't find anything, it probably can't be found—except by someone with a real knack for digging out the truth."

Lois got a horrible suspicion. "You… don't mean…"

White shook his head. "Oh, no, I wasn't thinking of putting you on it, Lois! I've got something much more important for you. Olsen, I'm assigning you to work with Cat on the Vanderworth story — find out who that husband is and what he's planning on doing with the money."

"Yes, Chi— er, yes sir," Jimmy said, under whelmed by the assignment. He liked Cat, but she usually looked right through him, like he wasn't even there.

"Well?" White said, when Jimmy didn't move. He jerked a thumb toward Grant's office. "Get out there and get busy!"

"Yes sir!" Jimmy said again, and slipped out of the office. Lois watched him go, then turned back to her boss.

"So what've you got for me this time, Chief?" she asked.

"The launch of the new shuttle _Genesis_ is coming up in a few weeks," White replied. "They're using a new launch method — piggybacking on a Boeing 777. I want you to cover it." Lois made a face.

"Don't we have a science reporter for that kind of stuff?" she asked, plaintively.

"We do," White replied tersely. "And if I wanted him to cover it, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. I want you to put a human interest spin on it, Lois — get people excited about the space program again. You've got two weeks to get your background material ready — but I want that story ready the minute that airliner touches down after the shuttle launches. Okay, get to it." With a wave of his hand White dismissed her from his office.

Jimmy was waiting for her outside. "What'd he give you?" he asked her.

"The shuttle launch, in two weeks," she said, glumly. "I am so screwed."

"Are you kidding?" Jimmy looked at her in disbelief. "I'd _kill_ to get to go up in that thing!"

"Too bad we can't change places," she said matter-of-factly, walking over to her desk and dropping her purse on it. Jimmy looked suddenly hopeful.

"Well, do you think we —"

"_No_," Lois said, with finality. "You deal with Cat Grant. And good luck." She walked into Richard White's office, where he was still talking with an excited Jason, who always enjoyed coming into the office with his parents.

"Thanks a bunch," Jimmy said, to her retreating back.

* * *

For several seconds, Harry simply looked at Professor Dumbledore in surprise. He never would have expected to see him _here_, of all places! "Professor," he asked the headmaster, "how did you find me?"

"And how did you manage to get in here undetected?" Superman added. "I've set up proximity alarms around the entire perimeter of the Fortress. They should have sounded when you came within a hundred yard from any direction."

"Both questions can be answered very easily," Dumbledore said placidly. But first he looked at the Man of Steel. "Do you mind if I sit down first? It was quite a trip here from South America."

"You flew?" Superman asked, looking around for something the elderly man could use as a chair. He looked quite ancient, Superman thought—he must be close to a hundred years old, if not more. "Well, I don't seem to have a chair handy —"

"Quite all right," Dumbledore said. "I can draw up one for myself." He took a wand from his robe and flicked it gently. Beside him a chintz arm chair appeared, and the headmaster settled comfortably into it. "Ahhh, much better," he sighed, crossing one leg over the other and massaging his booted toes.

Looking up, Dumbledore saw that both Harry and the Man of Steel were staring at him expectantly. "Oh, yes, how I got here," he said, reminded of Superman's last question. "I Apparated, of course."

"And what does that mean?" Superman asked.

It's a method wizards use to travel from one location to another almost instantly," Dumbledore replied. He glanced up from massaging his toes to look at Superman once again. "I presume that Harry has told you what he is?"

"Yes," Superman nodded. "I suppose I can make the same assumption about you, sir."

"Indeed," Dumbledore inclined his head. "Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at your service, Superman."

"You _know_ who he is?" Harry asked, surprised once again.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, simply. "I make it my business to know as much as possible about what goes on in the world, both inside and outside of Great Britain. I remember when Superman first appeared in the United States, perhaps a decade ago."

"About that long, give or take," Superman agreed. "But I've been gone for the past five years, searching for survivors of my home planet, Krypton."

"But," Harry persisted impatiently, "you still haven't explained how you found me, yet. Sir," he added, diffidently.

"Quite right," Dumbledore agreed. "Please excuse my forgetfulness." Harry grinned, knowing the headmaster probably never forgot anything. "A little over an hour ago I received an owl post — a mail message, in your parlance, Superman — from the Ministry of Magic, informing me that once again, Harry Potter had performed magic out of bounds and was being expelled from Hogwarts.

"I don't know why they keep doing that," he said, turning to give Harry a merry smile. "As I've reminded Cornelius Fudge — our Minister of Magic, or highest official in Britain's wizarding government — on numerous occasions, only the Headmaster of the school has the power to dismiss a student.

"Of course, it required me to travel to the Ministry once again, to straighten things out. I was quite sure Harry would have a very good reason for performing magic at Privet Drive. However, when I arrived at the Ministry, I discovered that you were no longer _at_ Privet Drive, Harry."

Harry frowned. "How could you know that, sir?"

"Because of the Trace," Dumbledore replied.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what that is," he admitted. "Should I, sir?"

"Not really," the headmaster explained. "It is a charm placed on every magical child shortly after their birth, even Muggleborns. It has a twofold purpose: first, it allows a wizarding child's parents, and anyone else who knows the child's full name and both his parents' names to cast a spell that gives their location, no matter how far away it is. Second, the Trace can detect when magical spells are cast in the vicinity of the child."

"Oh," Harry said, in a flat voice, as he realized the obvious application of such an enchantment. "So _that's_ how the Ministry knew I cast a Patronus Charm last year in Little Whinging!"

"They knew that a Patronus Charm had been cast, and that you were the only underage wizard in the vicinity when it occurred, so they were reasonably sure you had cast it," Dumbledore elaborated.

"What you're saying, Professor," Superman pointed out, "is that this Trace does not indicate _who_ cast the spell, but only that it was cast in the vicinity of someone who has this Trace spell cast on them. Is that correct?"

"Indeed, quite correct," Dumbledore said, nodding agreement with the Man of Steel's deduction.

"Wait a minute," Harry spoke up. He'd suddenly realized something. "Is that why I got that letter back before I started second year, when Dobby the house-elf had caused Aunt Petunia's pudding to splatter all over the kitchen floor, and me as well?"

Dumbledore gave him a commiserating look. "I'm afraid so, Harry."

"Well — that's not — fair!" Harry sputtered indignant. "I didn't do anything wrong, then!"

"True, true," Dumbledore agreed. "But then, many things in life are unfair, Harry. "Dobby went on to cause you much more trouble during that year, if you recall."

Harry nodded grimly. Between Dobby and Gilderoy Lockhart, and Ron's broken wand, as well as the Basilisk and Tom Riddle's diary, he'd had more than his share of problems his second year at Hogwarts. "Do you recall," Dumbledore went on, "how you repaid Dobby for all the things he did to you?"

Superman was listening interestedly as well. "Uh, I — guess I helped him free himself from the Malfoys," Harry shrugged. "Is that what you mean, Professor?"

"Yes, I do," Dumbledore beamed at him. "You repaid Dobby with kindness and compassion, rather than anger and ill-will. I point this out in order to remind you that all of your decisions in life are important, not merely the ones that turn out the way you hope for them to."

Harry pondered this for several seconds, then nodded. "I guess I see what you mean, sir."

"There's also how you helped me, Harry," Superman spoke up. "Even though you were confronted with what must have been a very strange and frightening set of circumstances: A ship swooping down from the sky, narrowly avoiding crashing into an inhabited area, but managing to stay aloft long enough to reach uninhabited land and crash, gouging out a trail hundreds of yard long and setting dozens of fires in the area. I probably would have died if not for your help, though I hadn't intended to get you mixed up in this."

"Yeah, and look what it got you," Harry replied, sardonically. "Both of us are mixed up with each other now, literally!"

Dumbledore glanced at each of them in turn. "What has happened? Did something occur when you found Superman and his ship, Harry?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Harry said, his voice going a bit shrill for a moment. "There was an accident, and we ended up with some of each other's powers — I've got some of Superman's super-powers in me, and he's got some of my magic."

Dumbledore looked intrigued. "That is indeed an amazing occurrence. Can you tell me exactly what happened when this transpired?"

"It's a long story," Superman said. "It might take a while."

"In that case," Dumbledore suggested, "may I draw a pair of chairs for the two of you as well?"

* * *

It had taken the better part of two days, but with access to unlimited funds Luthor was able to hire a moving crew that transferred all of his personal effects (as well as many items from the mansion's vast array of fine art, literature, and furnishings) from the Vanderworth estate to the _Gertrude_, his new yacht. Luthor had also kept Stanford busy preparing for the next leg of their journey toward world domination.

He'd had a stroke of luck in finding Stanford, a quiet, unassuming fellow of east Indian heritage, who might have been treated rather poorly in prison if not for Lex Luthor's… well, "mentoring" was probably the closest he could come to what he'd done. His other henchmen — Brutus, Riley, and Grant — were best suited for security and the usual grunt jobs, but Stanford, though he did not possess the same scientific and technical genius Luthor did, was nearly worth his weight in gold for what he did know.

While the others had been supervising the transfer of property from the mansion to the yacht, Luthor was having Stanford install some new electronics and computers in the ship's control room. Meanwhile, he and Kitty were unpacking a last few knickknacks for the grand ballroom of the ship, which Luthor had converted to his personal study, with his complete library as well as the full-sized pool table and grand piano from the Vanderworth home.

"I still don't get why we don't just stay at the mansion," Kitty was pouting. She had a martini glass full of grapes — one of her bad habits, Luthor had discovered, was that she tended to graze. It was probably going to ruin her figure someday. But by then, he figured, he will have dumped her for someone else, younger and hopefully smarter.

"As someone said," Luthor remembered, "if the mountain won't come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain."

"We're looking for a mountain?" Kitty asked, confused.

"No," Luthor smiled. "More like a fortress."

Kitty pondered for a moment, then shrugged and popped a grape into her mouth. "I don't get it," she said.

"A fact I am painfully aware of all too often, my dear," Luthor said, with mock sympathy, and Kitty gave him a scornful look. Ignoring it, he continued, "I've had Stanford working on hacking several defense satellite systems in orbit around Earth, with the goal of identifying a particular crystalline configuration which, if I have remembered the chemical composition correctly (and I'm sure I have), we will be able to locate Superman's missing Fortress of Solitude."

"Missing?" Kitty looked up from her grapes. "I thought you said it was up in the arctic, that you'd been there before."

"Right on both counts," Luthor applauded. "Very good, my dear!" Kitty only smirked. "However, the first thing I did after Gertrude kicked the bucket was to dispatch a survey team to its last known location, to report on what they found there. They reported back nothing was there. As I expected, before our big blue boy scout took a powder he moved it someplace else.

"Either that, or he destroyed it," Luthor added, half to himself. "But I'm working under the assumption that he will eventually return to Earth after he's finished with whatever he's off doing at the moment. With that assumption, he will have left his Fortress here as a base to return to, after removing it a new location so that certain undesirables —" here Luthor made a "yours truly" gesture "— would be unable to find it again. However, once again the Man of Steel underestimates his opponent."

"And just what is it you want from this 'Fortress'?" Kitty asked, both curious and suspicious. "What did you do — leave one of your wigs there, or something?"

"Very droll," Luthor retorted, dryly. "Since you're so easily amused by puzzles, Miss Kowalski, I will leave it to you to figure that out. I expect you'll have it worked out by the time we get there."

Leaving Kitty to sulk and eat grapes, Luthor ascended the spiral staircase leading up to the ship's main corridor, and from there up another staircase to the control room, where Stanford was hunched over a keyboard. "Come up with anything yet?" he asked the young Indian-American, glancing at the monitors showing satellite activity over various regions of the globe.

"Not yet," Stanford said, quietly. His fingers were flying over the keyboard as he alternated between three sets of satellites simultaneously, covering as much search area as possible.

"You're not checking the polar regions!" Luthor said suddenly, noticing where the satellites were pointed. "He's going to have put it somewhere people are unlikely to go — someplace like Antarctica, or even Siberia."

"Just being thorough," Stanford replied. "I haven't gotten access to a polar satellite yet — wait," he said, leaning over the keyboard eagerly. "I'm getting access to one now!"

As Luthor watched, an image began forming on one of the monitors of the south polar region. As the scan continued, a characteristic blue dot appeared in the Antarctic landmass. "Scan that," Luthor ordered.

"Scanning," Stanford acknowledged. Numbers began running across another monitor. After several moments, Stanford grinned. "Got it," he said smugly.

"That's it," Luthor said, elated. "Good work!" Stanford smiled proudly at Luthor's praise. He pulled out his cell phone, pressed one of the autodial buttons, and spoke as the connection was completed. "We've got our destination," he told Brutus, who had answered. "Be sure and put plenty of cold-weather gear on board, too — we're going to Antarctica!"

* * *

Professor Dumbledore was shaking his head in wonder as Harry and Superman finished telling him what had occurred the night the Man of Steel returned from his trip to Krypton. "A most curious situation," he murmured, thoughtfully, while he sipped at a cup of tea conjured as their story unfolded. "I might have surmised that such an exchange of powers could not take place without a — well, never mind," he shook his head, dismissing whatever idea was in his head. "Do you know how much of each of your powers were transferred to the other?" he asked, instead.

"Superman measured our strength levels with one of the — er, things, he has in here," Harry answered, pointing at the device he had used just a while ago. "But the numbers didn't add up."

"I suspect that our respective abilities are augmenting each other in some way," Superman explained once again, for Dumbledore's benefit.

"A fortunate circumstance," Dumbledore noted. "In some cases mixing special abilities can be a detriment."

"How do you mean, Professor?" Harry asked. "I mean, suppose Tonks was an Animagus as well as a Metamorphmagus — that would give her even more of an edge, being an Auror!" Harry noted that while Superman was listening to everything they were saying, he did not seemed to understand much of it.

"That would be an advantage," the headmaster admitted. "However, to name but one counterexample, consider a person with hyperlegilimensitis —"

"With _what_?" Harry exclaimed. "I never heard of that before!"

"It is a very rare malady, a condition where the witch or wizard is in a continual, non-invoked state of the _Legilimens_ spell," Dumbledore replied.

"You mean, so they'd know everything someone was thinking?" Harry surmised. "That doesn't sound so bad." Harry himself had been living with something like that situation for years now, with his own private line into Voldemort's thoughts.

"On the contrary, it can be quite serious," Dumbledore corrected him. "A person with this affliction can sometimes pick up the thoughts of everyone nearby, not just someone he is in eye contact with, as is the case with normal Legilimency.

"Now, imagine such a person also afflicted with a condition such as lycanthropy," Dumbledore suggested.

"Lycanthropy?" Superman repeated. "You mean — werewolves?"

"Yes," the headmaster clarified. "Yes, Superman, such beings do exist. I'm sure that cannot be a great surprise to you, considering your own unlikely existence."

"You have a point," Superman admitted. "Unique beings, perhaps. But a whole society of magic-wielding humans —"

"No more surprising than an entire world of humans living on a crystalline-metal planet, circling a giant red star," Dumbledore pointed out. "Is that not how you've described your home planet, Krypton?"

Superman nodded again. "You seem to know quite a lot about me, sir."

"As I have said, I make it my business to know as much as possible, both within the Wizarding world, and outside it," Dumbledore replied.

"So," Superman folded his arms in front of himself, regarding the older man. "Do you have any suggestions for what Harry and I should do about our situation?"

"A very simple one," Dumbledore said, immediately. "Learn from one another." Harry and Superman looked at one another.

"You mean," Harry said, after a moment, "teach each other how to use our powers?"

"Quite correct, Harry."

But Harry looked doubtful. "I'm not sure how well that's going to work. I don't know what's involved in using Superman's powers yet, but I've been learning magic for five years now, and I know there's a lot I still haven't covered. It would take Superman _years_ to get to where I am now!"

"Not to disparage your learning ability, Harry," Dumbledore said, gently, "but I think Superman has some abilities of his own, ones that will help him speed up the process. And if you have even a fraction of his powers, yours as well."

"What does he mean?" Harry asked, turning to Superman.

Superman was giving Dumbledore a bemused look. "I suppose the professor is referring to my speed — I can read the average book in seconds. And I retain anything I read or see."

"Huh," Harry said, nonplussed. "That would be a _real_ handy trick to know!"

"You should be able to do it now," Superman told him. "You have about half my peak speed, assuming it's proportional to my strength, which is more than enough to read an entire book in seconds."

"But," Harry pointed out, "I still don't know how use these powers! In fact, I'm a bit scared to — what if I break something?"

"Yes, you do have to be careful," Superman agreed. "I suppose our best plan is me to teach you how to use and control your super-powers; then, afterwards, you can get me set up to study some books on magic at that school of yours." He looked at Dumbledore. "With your permission, of course, sir."

"Granted," Dumbledore said at once. "However, it could be most distracting to the students if you were to show up in your Superman persona. May I suggest that you come to the school in your civilian identity? I can introduce you to the staff as an American engaged in studying differences between the British and American methods of wizarding education."

"Well, that might be a problem," Superman replied hesitantly. "You see, I keep my civilian identity completely separate from my Superman identity — for the most part, I don't even suggest admit that I _have_ a civilian identity. If I were to show up at the school in that identity, you and Harry would know it was me."

"Is that a problem?" Dumbledore asked, curiously. "We do not plan on telling anyone — do we, Harry?" the headmaster turned to Harry, looking at him expectantly.

Thinking about Ron and Hermione and what he'd planned to tell them the next time he saw them, Harry sighed and said, "No, sir — we don't."

"You've already told me there's a spell that allows wizards to read minds, _Legilimens_," the Man of Steel pointed out. "What if someone at the school reads one of your minds — or even _mine_, and discovers who I really am? I'm sorry," Superman shook his head. "I can't take that chance. I may have to come as Superman, and simply stay out of sight as much as possible."

But between Peeves and the numerous ghosts flitting around the castle — Nearly-Headless Nick would be particularly bothersome to keep quiet, Harry thought; Gryffindor's house ghost did so love a juicy item of gossip to pass around to the other ghosts — that Superman trying to hide out at Hogwarts wouldn't last very long. Unless —

"What about the Fidelius Charm?" Harry said, suddenly. "Could we use that to keep Superman's identity a secret?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I was just pondering that myself, Harry. It seems that great minds do think alike!" Harry smiled shyly; he didn't really consider his mind anywhere as sharp as Professor Dumbledore's.

"What is this Fidelius Charm?" Superman asked.

"It is a very complex spell," Dumbledore replied. "It is used to hide a piece of important information and make it communicable by only one person — called the Secret Keeper. Once this spell is cast, only the Secret Keeper would be able to communicate to anyone the information you wished hidden. Even those who already know the information will not be able to speak or otherwise communicate the information in any form whatsoever, excepting to those who already know the secret. This would also includes Legilimency, so your identity could not be taken from your mind unless you wished to communicate it. Your secret would be completely safe — no one save your Secret Keeper could tell anyone who you really are."

Superman looked skeptical, but Harry was nodding in agreement. "It's true, Superman," he said. "I know the Fidelius Charm works because I've seen it in action. I can't tell you what I learned — the Charm prevents that — but I can tell you it works perfectly. A person could be looking right at your secret, written out as plain as day, and they couldn't see it unless it was written by the Secret Keeper. In fact, no one except the Secret Keeper could even write it out in the first place, even if they knew it already!"

"That's a pretty amazing spell," Superman admitted. He looked lost in thought for some time, then nodded. "I think I can trust you, Harry — and you, Professor. How long will it take to cast the spell?"

"Not very long," Dumbledore said. "It is quite complex, but fortunately I have it memorized. Superman, if you will compose a statement describing the secret you would like kept, I will prepare the Charm."

"What should the statement say?" Superman asked, unsure of what the headmaster wanted from him.

"Oh, something on the order of, 'The secret identity of Superman is so-and-so'," Dumbledore replied. "You can also more fully qualify your identity than simply stating your name—for example, if your parents are still alive, you may add their names as well, and their relationship to you will also become secret."

"I see," Superman nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, that will be very helpful."

Dumbledore stood. "Before we begin, there is one small concession I must ask of you, Superman."

"What is that, sir?" the Man of Steel asked.

"The Secret Keeper of the Fidelius Charm cannot keep a secret about themselves," Dumbledore replied, then turned to Harry. "That is why your parents planned to make Sirius Black their Secret Keeper, Harry — because they could not be the keepers of the secret of where they lived. Even now that secret is in effect because its Secret Keeper, Peter Pettigrew, still lives."

Harry nodded grimly. He himself had saved Pettigrew's life when both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin planned to kill him for framing Sirius in Peter's supposed death, which had also killed a dozen Muggles on a public street in London back in 1981. "How should we handle this, sir? If Superman can't be his own Secret Keeper, how will he be able to control who knows who his secret identity really is?"

"It _is_ a pretty problem," Dumbledore pondered for perhaps a minute before speaking again. "However, as usual, I believe I have a solution. The reflexivity prohibition on the Fidelius Charm applies primarily to the subject of the statement, not so much to the predicate. If Superman words the statement so his true identity is part of the predicate, and his alter-ego part of the subject, I believe the spell will be successful."

Dumbledore looked at Superman once again. "Do you consider Superman to be your true identity, or just an alter-ego you assume from time to time?"

"Superman is my alter-ego," the Man of Steel replied, firmly.

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "I will now cast the spell. When I touch your head with my wand, I want you to state your secret, making sure that you use the name 'Superman' in the predicate; for example, 'I, Albus Dumbledore, am the real identity of the person known as Superman.' Understood?"

Superman nodded, and Professor Dumbledore began reciting a series of incantations, speaking in a language Harry was unfamiliar with. The professor made many strange gestures in the air with his wand, some of them seeming to leave streamers of light glowing around them. Soon the tip of his wand was glowing red, creating arcane symbols in the space around himself, Harry, and the Man of Steel. After nearly fifteen minutes of this, he stopped chanting, reached up, and touched Superman's forehead with his wand.

Superman hesitated, then said, "I, Clark Kent, the adopted son of Martha and the late Jonathan Kent, of Smallville, Kansas, am the real identity of the person known as Superman." The red glow of Dumbledore's wand spread throughout Superman's body, then seemed to disappear. Both Superman and Dumbledore slumped — the Man of Steel, from a sudden chill that passed through his body, and Dumbledore from the exertion of casting the spell.

Sitting down in the chair he'd conjured, Dumbledore leaned forward, seemingly exhausted. Yet only a moment later he looked up at Harry and Superman, beaming. "That's quite an interesting secret!" he said to Superman, rising to his feet once again. "I wonder how many people have thought Clark Kent was Superman over the years?"

Superman looked at him, concern on his face. "Professor, I thought it was impossible for anyone but me to communicate the secret once the spell was in place!"

"It is," agreed the headmaster in a placid tone. "But Harry and I were present during the casting of the spell, so we are aware of your secret already. However, it will be impossible for either of us to tell anyone else your secret — only you can do that." Superman relaxed, his fears allayed.

Dumbledore reached into his pocket, removing a pocket watch, one with twelve hands, each a different length, and glanced at it momentarily before putting it away again. "Well, I think it is time for me to be going," he said cheerfully. "I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts later in the summer. Harry, will you owl me when you and Superman plan to arrive? I trust you will begin your training in the use of Superman's abilities."

"Call me Clark, Professor," the Man of Steel said, warmly. "And thank you for your help with my identity. If I understand correctly, now no one on Earth can learn my true identity unless I tell them. Is that right?"  
"Correct," Dumbledore said. "You may also give them a note with the secret written on it, or communicate it in some other fashion, but you are the only one who can do so. Well, I should be going — oh, Harry…"

"Yes sir?" Harry asked, almost surprised to be addressed once again.

"I almost forgot to mention, but you should really pop past your aunt and uncle's house sometime within the next two weeks, and stay there overnight at least once, in order to renew the blood protection spells for yourself. Do you remember when you left Privet Drive last year?"

"Uh —" Harry thought for a moment. "Oh. It was when the Order of the Phoenix came to collect me, at the end of the first week of August, I think."

"Good," Dumbledore said. "We still have a few weeks before the enchantment breaks, then. If you can, try to be there before the second Friday in July."

"Why?" Harry asked. "What happens then?"  
"If things work out in my favor," Dumbledore replied, somewhat cryptically, "I will be able to use your help Friday evening with a small matter I plan on attending to around that time." Harry looked at Superman.

"That gives us around two weeks," Superman said, thinking over everything he'd need to show Harry so he could function properly as a super-powered being. "A little cramped for time, but I think we can teach Harry everything he needs to know by then."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore cried delightedly. "Very well, then. Superman — _Clark_ — a great pleasure to finally meet you, sir! Harry, I hope to see you at Privet Drive in two weeks. I will send an owl when I plan to arrive." Dumbledore inclined his head briefly, then turned on his heel and vanished.

Clark stared for a moment at the spot where the headmaster had been, then clapped his hands together briskly, turning to Harry. "Well, Harry, if we're going to teach you how to use those new powers of yours in two weeks, we'd better get started right away!"

The next week and a half was like a blur to Harry, albeit one he seemed to experience in slow motion, as Clark began showing him the different powers he now possessed. He now had unimaginable strength and speed; the solid rock of nearby mountains was like putty in his hand — he could sink his fist elbow-deep into the side of a mountain with almost no effort. When he cast a spell, such as a Stunner, his speed now reduced the bolt to a slow crawl, almost stopping it in mid-air if he moved as fast as he seemed able to.

His eyes, he found, could now see perfectly well without his glasses, and Clark trained him in the use of his x-ray and heat vision, showing him how to focus his perception so that he "saw" objects through solid material. The only obstacle his vision couldn't penetrate was lead, though he also found that a very thin layer of lead did allow for some penetration. Heat vision was scarier, since his eyes actually generated beams of heat radiation, and Harry learned he could focus it with nearly microscopic precision or a wide beam of heat, and vary the intensity from soothing warmth to white-hot heat. His eyes were now capable of seeing great distances as well — he could easily discern individual rocks on the surface of the moon; his vision also worked in the opposite manner, allowing him to focus on exceedingly small objects as well. He was able to see microorganisms on his own skin, for example, though none of them seemed to last very long once there.

That, Clark explained, was a consequence of his invulnerability, another new power, but one he seemed to have little control over, compared to the others. The cells of his body, Clark explained, now generated an aura of energy that protected them, and at his normal power levels this aura extended a few millimeters beyond the surface of his skin, protecting both him and any skin-tight clothing he was wearing from harm. For a while Harry had great sport in breaking rocks, sharp metal objects, and even firing weapons at Clark's skin, to examine how protected they both were. Harry's own skin seemed just as invulnerable as Clark's — he did not even feel the impact of bullets against his chest, though he would have to repair his shirt afterwards — not being skin-tight, it did not always fare as well against bullets or knives as he did.

There was also the issue of control. Harry had realized it instinctively when he'd reached for his wand just after he'd crushed a rock to powder, but he found that with his enhanced kinesthetic sense he was able to very precisely control how much force he exerted; otherwise, everything he touched tended to crumble like ash in his grip.

Ironically, the power he had the most difficulty with was the one he would have thought would be the easiest for him to master — flight. It might have been psychological — after all, wizards weren't supposed to be able to fly without some type of aid, like a broom or flying carpet. The idea that he could just take off into the sky, with nothing beneath him but air, was so incredible to Harry, even after watching Clark show him again and again, effortlessly, that it took him several days of practice before he felt confident doing it.

After he'd gotten the hang of it, however, it was _glorious_: Harry was able to fly up into the air, hover, spin in place, and dive for the ground at what seemed like hundreds of miles an hour, pulling up at just the last second and landing so that, to normal senses, it would be as if he'd suddenly appeared from nowhere. Clark seemed to tolerate his exuberance — he generally preferred slower, more visible landings. By Tuesday, eleven days after he'd first glimpsed Clark's ship outside his window, he and Clark both felt Harry had enough control over his powers to return home.

Although Harry had explained to Clark his home situation with the Dursleys, how they treated him, and his desire to live somewhere (anywhere!) else, Harry was secretly relishing the idea of laughing in their faces when they tried to order him about now, and the look of shock and pain on Dudley's face when he tried to slap or punch him. That _alone_ would be worth going back for!

But if Clark had any inkling of how Harry felt, or his plans for Dudley and his parents as they both prepared to return home — Harry to Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Clark to his mother's home in Smallville — he said only, "Harry, when you're at your aunt and uncle's house, try not to call too much attention to your new powers."

Sounding slightly disappointed, Harry asked, "Why not?"

"Well, from what you've said, you're not allowed to use magic outside your school until you turn seventeen, is that correct?"

"Yeah, but —"

"But those restrictions don't apply to these new abilities, do they?" Harry shrugged slightly, then shook his head.

Clark nodded understanding. "I had to deal with my share of bullies when I was young as well; when I was little, before my powers really began to develop, I got beat up a couple of times."

Thinking about the times Dudley and his gang had tormented him, Harry asked, "What did you do about it?"

"I talked to my dad about it," Clark answered. "He'd told me never to use my powers in front of anyone, no matter what. I could have broken someone's hand if I let them punch me without 'giving' with the punch — you remember we practiced that some — and I might have taken off someone's head if I'd punched them back, in anger."

"I can't imagine you having to be some bully's punching bag," Harry said, disbelievingly. "Didn't you _want_ to hit them back?!"

"Oh, sure," Clark nodded, earnestly. "I can't tell you how many baseballs I threw into the next county — or the next _state_ — when I was trying to work off my frustrations. If my dad saw I was getting too worked up over some kid picking on me — like Brad Dolan, from my high school days — he'd send me out to cut wood for fence posts. Sometimes he'd even insist I use an axe." Harry grinned at that.

"But my point is," Clark went on, "you don't have to let your cousin run over you, but you don't need to beat him up, either, just to prove yourself. Do you?"

"I guess not," Harry said, a touch of reluctance in his voice. "I just know I'm gonna get yelled at when I get home, though."

"Well, you _have_ been gone almost two weeks," Clark pointed out. "I imagine your aunt and uncle are worried about you."

"You don't know the Dursleys," Harry disagreed. "They're probably worried I _will_ turn up again! I almost expect to get there and find all my stuff back in the cupboard under the stairs!" At Clark's quizzical look he added, "That's where they made me sleep for the first ten years I lived with them — they only moved me to a bedroom after I got the first letter inviting me to Hogwarts. Then they thought someone was watching them, and they didn't want to get in trouble with the authorities."

Superman said nothing. Privately, he was appalled at the treatment Harry had suffered at the hands of his relatives — while he, an orphan from a dead world, had found a home here with a loving couple who took him in, despite the strange circumstances of his arrival here on Earth, welcoming him as their own. It was Jonathan and Martha Kent and their love and compassion for him, their willingness to protect him and to deal with the unique problems he'd sometimes presented them with, that helped make him the man he was today — a man who stood for truth, justice, and equality for all.

"You won't be there very long," Clark pointed out. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned he'd be coming for you this Friday, didn't he? He said he needed your help with something, didn't he?"

Harry nodded, remembering that and smiling wryly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. I dunno what he needs _me_ for, though."

"Maybe it's just a way to get you out of your aunt and uncle's house without you having to stay there too long," Clark suggested.

"Could be," Harry agreed. "Well, we'd better get going." He reached out a hand and Clark took it, shaking Harry's hand warmly. "If Dumbledore takes me to the Burrow — my friend Ron's house — like I hope, I'll get away the first chance I can and visit you in Smallville."

"Right," Clark said. "If I'm not there, try here. If you don't find me here, you remember how I showed you to use the main control console to check for messages?"

Harry tapped the side of his head. "Of course I remember — super memory!"

"Right!" Clark laughed. "Oh — and don't forget, when flying, try to stay below sonic speed while you're in the atmosphere, until we can practice high-speed flight techniques to avoid a huge backwash effect and sonic booms."

"Got it," Harry said, tired of being reminded for the fifteenth time. He'd only busted up a _few_ mountain peaks, for Merlin's sake! "Okay, see you, Clark!"

"Bye, Harry." They both lifted slowly off the ground, rising into the frigid air above the Fortress through a small access hole and ascending into the twilight (it was still in the six months of night here in Antarctica). A few thousand feet in the air, Clark waved then turned and shot off to the north. Within a few seconds he was out of sight.

Harry smiled. It had been like a crazy but wonderful dream, these last ten days. But now he was ready to go back into the real world, to put all the things that he'd learned into practice. Hopefully, he thought, he'd be able to control himself like Clark had said, and avoid wringing Dudley's or his uncle's fat necks. Taking a deep breath for air and willing himself into motion, Harry shot upward, out of the atmosphere, and pointed himself toward England, and home.

**Author's Note: I didn't mention it last chapter, but Harry Potter and Clark Kent/Superman are my two favorite characters -- I'm looking forward to writing this fic and seeing them interact with one another and the other characters from both mythos. Harry and Clark from Smallville would be another great crossover, but I wanted him to meet the Man of Steel before getting involved with the "Blur." I did use the idea that kryptonite and a massive electrical surge might transfer some of Clark's powers to someone else; the fun part was that it worked both ways with Harry's magical ability. I wonder how wild things can get with a slightly depowered Superman with magical abilities, much less a super-powered Harry, even if he's only half as strong as Superman normally is -- after all, the old saying goes, what's half of infinity...?**


	3. Home is Where the Hurt Is

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Three  
****Home is Where the Hurt Is**

**Updated 22 May 2010**

Harry shot into the air, adjusting his upward angle of flight so he would clear the atmosphere by the time he passed over the northern shores of Antarctica. He flew steadily for a few seconds at 150 MPH, the maximum speed of his Firebolt, before putting on a burst of speed, accelerating up to 750 MPH, just under the speed of sound, until he reached the edge of the atmosphere. _Now_ he could travel as fast as he wanted, without worrying about potential damage to the environment due to sonic booms and backwash.

Going to hypersonic speed, just past Mach 5, Harry looked down on the planet below him with a sense of excitement and exhilaration. He was flying under his own power! Not with a broom or a hippogriff beneath him, but by himself! He'd practiced flying around the Fortress, of course, and the nearby mountains surrounding it, but he'd always done so under Clark's watchful eye. Now, he could fly as fast as he wanted, with nothing to hold him back!

It was something Harry had been itching to try ever since he'd gained control of the ability. He wanted to cut loose, to see how fast he could propel himself, before heading back to the Dursleys and pretending to be meek and mild Harry Potter once again. Looking above the curve of the Earth below him, Harry selected a star at random and willed himself toward it.

He felt himself accelerating, but without any air going past him it was difficult to gauge just how fast he was going. The stars, being light-years away, didn't change perspective as he flew toward them. After a minute or so he slowed to what seemed like a halt and looked down, to see how far north he'd traveled.

The Earth was gone.

_Oh, crap_, Harry thought, turning slowly and looking around for the planet. _How fast did I _go? He found the sun without much trouble — it was still the biggest star in his field of view, visible as a disc rather than a point. But the Earth… _How could I lose an entire damn planet_? Harry berated himself. He was tempted to sigh gustily, but remembered he was in the vacuum of space, and held his breath. Not that he felt oxygen deprived, but Clark had suggested that he take a deep breath and hold it while out of the atmosphere.

At last, a plan to locate the Earth came to mind. Starting with lights nearest the sun from his perspective, Harry used his enhanced vision to magnify each one in turn. Eventually, he knew, he would come across — there! One of the points of light had become a blue-green crescent, reflected sunlight from the nearby moon showing him the rest of the Earth in shadow. Now he simply had to move toward it, keeping his speed from going into overdrive so as not to overshoot it once again. Within a few minutes he was hovering over the Earth once again, only a few hundred miles above its surface. Moving in an arc, he approached Great Britain until he was directly above it, then allowed himself to begin descending toward the surface. A bit unnerved by his experience, he was still smiling at how fast and far he'd gone in that one minute burst of speed. It was going to be a _very_ interesting few days at the Dursleys!

It was nearing dusk in Surrey, where Little Whinging was located, and as Harry descended he watched carefully for landmarks to tell him when he was above the city, then traced the roads to his neighborhood. From a few thousand feet up he located the play park located about a half-mile from number four, Privet Drive. That was where he planned to set down, assuming the park was empty. He could see no one around, either on the swings or loitering about near the entrance; the park was a favorite location for Dudley and his gang to hang out, waiting to ambush smaller children or randomly vandalize the swings there. Rather than risk someone seeing him floating down slowly, Harry planned to drop fast, pulling up at the last moment for a soft landing. It almost worked.

Harry hit the ground harder than he'd intended — his feet went into the dirt past his ankles. A bit annoyed at his imprecision, he pulled his feet free, then looked around. Nobody seemed to have heard the loud _thump_ his landing had made. Harry walked casually over to the railings on the park's west side and "pretended" to vault the gate (actually, he let his flying power lift him over, in an approximation of a vaulting jump), then walked south on Magnolia Road toward its intersection with Magnolia Crescent. He was not in a particular hurry; he wanted time to rehearse what he was going to say to his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia when they questioned him about where he'd been. It was going to be the hard part of this homecoming, especially since he fully expected Vernon to shout at him for a long time before sending him up to his room. Things would go a lot smoother, Harry considered, if they'd just send him up to his room without comment.

"Hey, Potter!" a voice behind and to his right called out, and Harry winced, angry with himself for not being more careful. The voice belonged to Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend and the number two member of his gang, after Dudley himself. Harry stopped and turned, seeing Polkiss with two other members of the gang, Dennis and Gordon. The trio had apparently been standing between two houses, for purposes unknown, until they noticed Harry walking by. "Whatcha doing out so late?" Polkiss asked him, as the other two boys grinned, anticipating the fun they intended to have.

Usually at this point Harry would take off running, either making it back to number four before Polkiss caught him (he was the fastest of the group, the one Harry had to beat if he was to escape their clutches), or begin brought down and pummeled by the gang until they decided to let him go. It hadn't happened recently, mostly because Dudley was now scared of Harry and that "thing" he carried (his wand), though none of the other boys knew that Harry was a wizard. And now, even though they didn't know it, they had even more reason to leave Harry be. "Just going home," he answered, trying not to give them a reason to start a fight, though he knew full well none of Dudley's friends _needed_ a reason to pick on him — it's just what they did. "Where's Big D?" Harry asked, looking around as if expecting to see Dudley.

Piers didn't answer immediately. The three boys had surrounded Harry by now, and Piers was grinning at him like the Cheshire cat. "Dudley said you went missing. Been gone a couple 'a weeks. So, where ya been, Potter? Off visiting your boyfriend, Cedric?"

How could they remember something Dudley must have mentioned to them over a year ago, Harry thought incredulously. These blokes could barely tell what day of the week it was! Annoyed at Piers' disrespect for someone he didn't even know, Harry snapped, "Cedric died over a year ago!"

"Awww," Piers put on a sad face while Dennis and Gordon laughed. "I'm sooo sowwy for youw woss, Hawwy," he said, in a mincing voice meant to mock. "Did you cwy at his funeral?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm leaving," he announced, but as he turned to walk away Dennis and Gordon blocked his path.

"Nuh uh," Gordon said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

Harry looked at Gordon's hand on his shoulder for a moment, then back at Gordon. "Watch me," he said, flatly.

The next moment things got very confused as Harry seemed to slip away from Gordon's hand even as a sudden gust of cold wind slammed into the large boy's chest, throwing him backwards onto the ground. Dennis, who'd begun to grab for Harry as he spoke, was also knocked unceremoniously off his feet by another gust.

Piers, who'd been leaping forward, fist clenched, to smack Harry in the back for daring to cheek them, connected only with air, nearly overbalanced, then spun around, only to be lifted off his feet by a third gust that dropped him on his back between the first two boys.

Dazed and confused, the three boys stared up at Harry, who appeared unaffected by the sudden bursts of wind. "Kind of breezy tonight, isn't it?" he asked them, a smile playing across his lips.

"Potter!" Polkiss cried, staring at the skinny, bespectacled kid who'd somehow dodged all three of them. "H-how'd you move so _fast_?"

Harry chuckled. "I've always been able to run fast. I outrun _you_ most of the time." He turned and started to walk away, but stopped and added, "If you see Big D tonight, tell him I'll see him at home." He walked away.

He was almost to Magnolia Crescent when they began shouting at him, calling him names and telling him to come back and fight, but they weren't running after him, so Harry ignored them. It was probably just as well they weren't following him — if they had, Harry would have chosen to run home, avoiding another fight. Not for his sake, but for theirs.

Clark had warned him about getting in fights with people with normal strength, especially when you were angry or upset. It was easy to misgauge your strength in such situations, until you'd had enough practice at using just the right amount of force. Remembering that, Harry had avoided using his fists at all, choosing to simply move at enhanced speed, knocking Dennis and Gordon off their feet with puffs of super-breath, then dodging Piers' sucker punch and stepping behind him to repeat the breath maneuver just as Piers regained his balance. The result was three opponents lying in the dirt with no punches thrown on Harry's part.

Unfortunately, it had also got his adrenaline pumping, just when he needed _not_ to be aggressive—as he was about to see his aunt and uncle again after two weeks of being gone from number four Privet Drive. Harry made his way to the street where the Dursley house was located, drew a slow, calming breath, then walked up the front walk and rang the doorbell.

But nearly a minute later, no one had come to the door. Harry put his vision and hearing powers to work, to find out what was going on. The doors and walls of the house became almost completely transparent under his gaze. He found Vernon in the living room, dozing in front of the television. His aunt, as usual after the evening meal, was giving the kitchen its first of several compulsory cleanings; and lastly, Dudley was up in his bedroom, playing a video game on his television set. Either none of them had heard the doorbell, or had assumed someone else was answering it. Harry hit the doorbell again, and knocked on the door as well.

At the sudden thumping Vernon jerked awake. "Petunia!" he called. "The door!"

"I'm cleaning!" she shouted from the kitchen. "Get Dudley to answer it!"

"Dudley!" Vernon bellowed. "Get the door, NOW!"

Harry smirked as upstairs, Dudley huffed and threw down his game control, rolled ponderously to his feet and tromped slowly down the steps, muttering about being treated like a slave now that Harry was gone. He yanked open the door, snapping out a annoyed "What—?" before realizing who was standing on the front step. Harry almost felt like laughing as he saw recognition, then surprise followed quickly by apprehension and fear, on his cousin's face.

"Hiya, Big D," Harry said, cheerfully. "How's that diet going?" He let a beat pass, then added, "Not so well, I'm guessing."

"You!" Dudley snarled, almost like an accusation. "Where the hell have _you_ been?"

"Did you miss me?" Harry sneered.

"Dudley! Who's at the door?" Vernon yelled from the living room.

"It's Harry!" Dudley yelled back.

"_What_?" there were screeches from both the living room and the kitchen, and within seconds all three of the Dursley had appeared before Harry at the front door. "_Where the devil have you been, boy_?" Vernon demanded.

"Out," Harry said, simply.

"Out _where_?" Petunia asked, her voice as close to a shriek as she could get while keeping it low enough so the neighbors wouldn't hear her.

"Just out," Harry repeated, not wanting to give them any information about what he'd been doing.

"Well get inside he—" Vernon grasped Harry's shoulder and tried to pull him inside, but Harry didn't budge. "Urggh — what the ruddy hell are you _doing_, boy?" Unable to move Harry, Vernon finally released his shoulder and glared at him.

Once his uncle had let go, Harry stepped into the house, walking past them to the staircase leading upstairs. He stopped on the bottom step, turned to them, and spoke. "I've had some things to take care of for the past couple of weeks, and to be honest, I didn't think you really cared where I was or what was happening with me."

"You've got _that_ right, boy!" Vernon said, gruffly. "As far as I'm concerned, you might as well just stayed where you were!" He reached over to a lamp table standing next to the stairs, grabbing a small parchment envelope. "And I'm telling you this for the last time — no more bloody owls better come swooping into our house!" He shook the envelope in Harry's face, then threw it at his feet. "D'you hear me, boy?"

Harry looked down at the envelope, only mildly surprised. He recognized the handwriting as Professor Dumbledore's. "When did this come?" he asked.

"It was earlier today," Petunia answered, her voice filled with disgust at the thought of the _horrid_ beast that had shot through her kitchen window, dropped the envelope on the kitchen table, and flew out again without pause. "It took me a whole hour to clean the kitchen again, afterwards!"

"What does it say?" Vernon demanded. "We couldn't get it open!"

"You tried to _read_ it?" Harry said, both annoyed and amused. He reached down and picked up the envelope, examining it. There were scratches and creases along the envelope's edges, as if someone had tried to pry or tear it open. "Weren't you afraid it would curse you or something?"

Vernon glanced warily at the envelope, as if that idea hadn't occurred to him. "Bah," he snorted, dismissing it as unimportant. "I don't know what your freak friends could have to say to you that _we'd_ care a whit about!"

"Good," Harry said, turning to walk upstairs. "Because it _probably_ says that Professor Dumbledore will be by this Friday night—"

"What?" Both Vernon and Petunia looked startled, then apprehensive. "Why's that old coot coming _here_?" Vernon blustered.

"To take me to my friend Ron's house, the Burrow, for the rest of the summer. So you won't have to put up with me for much longer," Harry explained.

"He'd better be here before dinner, is all I've got to say," Vernon threatened, waving a beefy finger at Harry. "There's no use in us feeding you if you won't be doing your chores that night!"

Harry, having already scanned the letter by looking through the parchment envelope, said in a diffident tone, "He won't be by until eleven p.m., so I'll have my chores done for the day."

"How do you know he'll be by then?" Petunia demanded. "You haven't even looked at the letter yet!"

"Magic," Harry told her. Without further argument he went up to his room. When he got to his door, however, Harry found it was still magically locked. A quick glance through the door told him the window to his room was still open — he could fly in through there, though he'd have to do it fast enough to avoid being seen, and he'd risk damaging the room if he wasn't exactly precise in his movements. After a moment's thought, however, Harry saw a simpler solution: the hinges to his door were on the outside, so that Vernon could remove the door if necessary. Harry simply reached up, removing the two hinge pins; then a pull with only a bit of enhanced strength easily removed the door from the frame. He then replaced the pins, leaving the door open. He'd have to leave it that way, slightly ajar, until he left for the Burrow, but he doubted if the Dursleys would bother him much between then and now. He lifted his legs from the floor, letting his flying power float him over the bed, where he crossed his legs beneath him and settled onto the bedcovers. _I wonder how Clark's doing right now_? Harry thought, looking out the window into the growing twilight.

=ooo=

Clark, having many more years of experience in the use of his abilities than Harry, spent only a few seconds streaking northward until he was above the wheatlands of Kansas. It was the middle of the day in central United States, and Clark stayed below radar level, moving invisibly fast until he was directly over the Kent farm, then slowing so he could land lightly behind the barn, out of sight of the house.

He'd placed a change of normal clothes in the rafters of the barn, in case of situations where he might need civilian clothing before entering the house. His mother would know him instantly, even in costume, but being home again gave Clark an overwhelming urge to embrace his human side once again, something he'd been unable to do while exploring the ruins of Krypton. Removing his costume, he put on the flannel shirt, blue jeans and work boots, as he'd done so many times in his youth, enjoying the feeling of normalcy they gave him.

He glanced toward the house, checking to see if anyone was visitng Martha Kent. She was alone, he saw, although he noticed a dog resting on a doggie bed in the kitchen, watching her roll out a pie crust. Clark smiled; he'd certainly timed his arrival well — she was making apple pie!

He walked quietly toward the back door of the house, where the kitchen was located, but before he'd covered half the distance from the barn to the house Martha had glanced up through the window and, seeing him coming, ran to the door and threw it open. "Clark!" she called, her voice filled with emotion, and held her arm out toward him. Clark ran the final few yards, scooping her up gently. "Oh, my boy!" she cried, hugging him tightly. "You're back!" Clark nodded, taking in the scent of her — the smell of baking and fresh fruits, the touch of perfume his father had liked, which she still used; it had been too long since he'd seen her. It also slightly chilled him as he realized that she might have died anytime in the past five years, while he was gone.

When she released him, Clark found her staring into his eyes with motherly concern. "When did you get back?" she asked. "Just now?"

Clark shook his head. "I've been back a few days," he told her. "I needed to secure the ship I returned in." He hesitated a moment, then continued, "I also had a — small problem, when I got back. There was a piece of kryptonite stuck to the ship, it weakened me once I'd entered the solar system and nearly killed me as I tried to exit the ship."

"Oh, no!" Martha exclaimed. "How did you get away from it?"

"Well," Clark admitted, smiling a bit sheepishly, "I had some help." He told her how when his powers returned, as he entered the influence of Earth's yellow sun, he realized that he was weaker than normal, and guessed that there was kryptonite somewhere on the ship's hull. What he _hadn't_ counted on was that it was right over the exit hatch from his ship — as he'd started to climb out, he was bombarded with the k-radiation, weakening him still further and causing him to collapse. He had tried to crawl away but the ground around the ship was muddy and too steep for him to climb out, until a young man named _Harry Potter_ had shown up and rescued him.

"A boy rescued you?" Martha said, as Clark described his benefactor to her. She smiled mischievously. "He must have been quite amazed to find himself rescuing Superman, wasn't he?"

"Surprisingly," Clark recalled, "he didn't seem to recognize me at all, at first. My costume was rather muddy at that point — and it was covered in grime and dust from the journey." He sighed. "I really should have checked the ship for basic necessities, like a shower stall, before taking off to find Krypton!"

"You haven't had a shower in five years?" Martha asked, shocked. "My goodness, Clark!"

"I cleaned up in the Fortress, Mom," he assured her. "And, I —" he hesitated a moment "I showed the Fortress to Harry, as well."

"_Did_ you?" his mother said, starting to wonder just what kind of relationship Clark had forged with this Harry Potter. "You know what problems that caused last time, when people found out where your Fortress was."

"Well, something happened when Harry rescued me, Mother," Clark explained. "Something very strange." Briefly he described the accident with the kryptonite and the lightning, and how it seemed to transfer some of his powers to Harry. Martha listened with growing anxiety.

"How did he handle them?" she wondered. She ran her hands along Clark's arms and chest. "How are _you_ handling it, Clark? Do you feel weaker?"

"I'm fine," Clark replied. "I measured my current strength, it's about three-fourths of what I had before. Strangely, Harry's strength is about half of my original strength, not one-fourth. Plus, some of Harry's powers were siphoned off into me as well."

"_Harry's_ powers?" Martha was intrigued by this revelation. "You didn't mention anything about them before! What kind of powers does Harry have?"

"He's a wizard," Clark told her. "He has magical powers." He went on to describe what little information he'd gotten from Harry about the Wizarding world: it was a society hidden away from the world at large, yet scattered all across it, from the Far East to the Americas. Harry lived in Britain, where Clark's ship had first entered the atmosphere, and he seemed to do a lot of things wizards were known for: he'd flown on a broom to catch up with the ship, and had used a magic wand to cast spells. From what Harry had told him, there were thousands of wizards living among other humans; he had even met another wizard, Harry's principal, or headmaster, at the school Harry attended in the north of Great Britain.

"That's amazing, Clark!" his mother was fascinated to hear of an entire society hiding from normal people even while they lived among them. "To be honest, I'd been worried when you began going out as Superman — it seemed like people would recognize you immediately. But that hasn't happened."

"For the most part, no," Clark agreed. "But Lois has gotten suspicious a few times…"

"Lois," his mother repeated. She gave him a motherly look. "Have you talked to her yet, Clark?"

Clark looked surprised. "Mom, I just got back from _five years_ in another star system!" He put an arm around her. "I thought I'd come see my favorite girl first."

"Oh, you —!" she smiled at his words, honest as she knew they were. But her expression quickly became serious again. "Does she remember who you —?"

"No," Clark said flatly. "After the problem with General Zod and the other Phantom Zone criminals, I realized the danger to her was just too great for me to continue being with her. I … removed her memory of my identity as Clark, with super-hypnosis. It was right about that time I saw the announcement that scientists believed Krypton had been located, and I made quickly made preparations to go. Perry gave me an extended leave of absence." Clark shrugged slightly. "Well, he pretty much said he'd see if there was a job for me, when I got back," he smiled, touching his mother's cheek. "Then I came and said goodbye to you, and went to find Krypton. And now, I'm back." He sighed. "And things are, well, complicated again."

Martha was giving him a quizzical look. "You _did_ say goodbye to Lois before you left, didn't you?" she asked, slowly.

Clark cleared his throat, looking sheepish again, and didn't answer her. "Oh, Clark," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Why not? Couldn't you face her?"

Clark didn't reply for some time. He'd turned away, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, he looked back at her. "I don't know, Mother," he answered. "I guess I just didn't know what to say to her. Even though she doesn't remember who I am, she's — she's still in love with Superman."

"And you're still in love with her," Martha added, quietly. It was not so much a question as a comment. After a moment, Clark nodded, slowly.

Martha moved close and hugged him again, enjoying being close to him once again, and the maternal feelings he evoked in her. "It will be okay, son," she whispered softly. She held him at arm's length, her eyes looking into his. "So, what are you going to do now that you're back?"

Clark smiled warmly at her. "For a while — nothing, I hope," he said. "I thought I'd stay with you for a few days, get my 'Earth legs' back, and do some things around the house for you." He took a deep breath. "Especially if we're having apple pie for dessert tonight," he grinned.

She grinned. "Well, _that_ one's for Lana and her son, Ricky." At Clark's surprised look, she added. "They moved back to Smallville a couple of years ago — she's been working as a secretary for a firm over in Concordia, and she and Ricky help me with a few chores around the farm on weekends. Sometimes Ricky stays here during the days, when she needs a sitter. He's a sweet little boy," she smiled fondly, thinking of him. "It's a shame things didn't work out between Lana and her ex — Ricky needs a father," she continued, giving Clark a look he couldn't help but feel wasn't entirely guileless.

"Well," Clark said, determined not to take the bait, "I'll look forward to seeing her again sometime, and meeting Ricky, if I'm still around —"

"Oh, they'll be here this weekend," Martha said brightly, turning back to continue making the apple pie. "I could hardly expect _you'd_ be back, Clark."

Clark gave her a wry grin. "I'll try and stay out of the way, Mom."

"Oh, don't be silly," she said, wagging a finger at him. "Of course you're always welcome, dear — you know that! I'm sure you and Lana will have a grand old time reminiscing about your days at Smallville High. And you can stay as long as you like."

Clark walked over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom." He gave a nod toward the barn. "I'm going to go check some things out, see what needs to be fixed. Give me a holler when dinner's ready?"

She smiled and nodded, watching as Clark walked back out to the barn. Inwardly, she was very grateful that she'd been allowed to live long enough to see him return to Earth. It was good to have Clark back home again.

=ooo=

By Friday night, Harry found himself about as bored as it was possible for a fifteen-year old boy with newfound superpowers to be — which, considering that he had no intention of discussing them, or anything else about his life to this point (which rather sucked, all things considered, he felt, given that he was living with relatives who hated him and that the closest person he'd had to a real family member had been murdered a few weeks ago), left Harry with little to do but sit in his room at his desk and mope.

His room was almost exactly the way he'd left it when he'd left last year, when members of the Order of the Phoenix had come to collect him while the Dursleys were out — due to a ruse Nymphadora Tonks concocted, inviting them to a nonexistent awards dinner for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. Harry grinned at that memory, wondering whatever had come of that, since when they got to the place where it was purportedly being held, there would have been no such dinner being held.

There was a knock at the door to his room, and Harry turned around, surprised to see Dudley standing there, giving him an apprehensive look. "What?" he asked, wondering what his cousin wanted; they hadn't spoken since Harry returned home, three days ago.

"Hey," Dudley muttered. He glanced back over his shoulder, as if checking where Vernon and Petunia were; Harry, with his enhanced sight and hearing, knew they were both watching a show on the telly. "I heard you saw the guys the other day," Dudley said.

"Yeah," Harry said, in a flat voice. "They sort of 'welcomed' me back into Little Whinging," he said, in a sardonic tone.

"Yeah, well…" Dudley shook his head, looking unhappy. "I told 'em they oughta lay off you from now on."

"You did?" Harry was a bit surprised to hear this. "Why?"

Dudley appeared as surprised by Harry's question as Harry was by his. "Well…" he frowned, looking as if he were trying to work out why Harry had asked the question. "You — you saved my life, remember?"

"Oh." Harry now realized what Dudley meant — he was referring to the two dementors that had attacked them last summer. That was the last time he'd spoken to Dudley for any length of time, until they'd returned home from King's Cross a few weeks ago. "Yeah, well, they wouldn't have killed you — just sucked out your soul."

"Well, whatever they woulda done," Dudley said earnestly, "I'm glad you kept 'em from doing it."

"No problem," Harry said, offering his cousin a small smile. "And thanks for telling your friends not to bug me, though I probably won't see them again this summer — I'm leaving tonight to visit my friends for the rest of the summer."

"Well, maybe, but —" Dudley glanced out Harry's bedroom door again, as if worried someone might be listening. He turned back, speaking in a hushed tone. "Dad said he's going to give your teacher, or whoever's coming to get you, a proper talking-to, to straighten him out."

"Oh, he is?" Harry asked, secretly amused at the idea of Vernon Dursley lecturing Albus Dumbledore. "That should be interesting to see."

Dudley was looking at Harry anxiously. "He — he won't do anything…bad, will he — this teacher of yours?" he asked, real concern in his voice. "Dad can get a bit…well, overenthusiastic when he's complaining about something."

"Don't I know it," Harry muttered, under his breath. But to Dudley he said only, "Don't worry about it. Professor Dumbledore isn't going to let Uncle Vernon provoke him into a fight or anything. He doesn't like to fight."

"I wish I could say the same about Dad," Dudley replied, and went back into his own room, leaving Harry alone once again.

Harry checked the alarm clock on his desk, an old wind-up he had repaired a year ago; it was only seven-thirty, over three hours before Dumbledore was expected. He glanced at the letter from the headmaster, once again reading the words that he'd already gone over at least a dozen times already.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_As I mentioned during our last talk, I shall arrive at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holiday._

_Also as I mentioned, if you are agreeable, I should also be glad for your assistance in a matter I plan to attend to on the way to the Burrow. I will explain more fully when I see you again._

_In addition, I look forward to meeting your friend Clark once again, and hope he is well. Please send your reply by means of this owl. I hope to see you this Friday._

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

Harry had, of course, sent off his "yes" with the owl; now it simply remained for him to wait for what would probably feel like an interminable time, though it was only a little more than three hours until eleven p.m. However, with whatever his uncle was planning to say to Dumbledore, according to Dudley, Harry wasn't that eager to have the headmaster come by the house.

Not that Vernon could _do_ anything to Albus Dumbledore, Harry thought — it was more a matter of him planning to say anything to the headmaster at all, given that Vernon loathed the very idea of magic itself. Anyone that practiced it, like Professor Dumbledore or even Harry himself, was automatically on Vernon's bad side. Harry was beginning to wish he'd never mentioned that the professor was coming to collect him.

Harry stared out the window, wondering what he could do to keep his uncle and Professor Dumbledore from meeting. Images began forming of Vernon acting tactless, uncouth, or downright rude to the professor, who would very likely do nothing to stop him — unlike Hagrid, who'd very quickly put an end to Vernon's harsh words against Dumbledore, by casting a spell that gave Dudley a pig's tail (though Hagrid had told him afterwards that he'd intended to turn Dudley into a pig altogether)! Harry shook his head slightly, dismissing the images from his mind — Professor Dumbledore would not let someone like Vernon Dursley get under his skin! He shut his eyes, thinking about the professor's twinkling blue eyes and easy smile that would completely disarm his blustering, bullying uncle. And if it didn't — well, Harry knew, the headmaster was not someone to be trifled with.

The sudden sound of the doorbell ringing jolted Harry, and he sat bolt upright, realizing that he'd been dozing. _How could I have fallen asleep_? Harry wondered. But it had happened — he heard the professor's deep voice at the front door. A quick glance with his x-ray augmented vision showed Dumbledore standing on the front step, smiling at a scowling Vernon Dursley, who looked prepared to refuse him entrance.

"Good evening," he heard the professor say. "You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?"

"He has," Harry heard Vernon reply, gruffly. "But now see here, I don't mean to be rude —"

Harry jumped up from where he was sitting, rushing into the upstairs hallway and was almost to the bottom of the staircase when he realized he was moving at superspeed. He stopped on the landing, though a gust of displaced air whooshed through the hallway as Professor Dumbledore said, "And yet, accidental rudeness sadly occurs alarmingly often, I am sorry to say," completing Vernon's sentence. "Best remain quiet, my good man, and avoid all such unexpected gaffes." He beamed as the kitchen door opened and Harry's aunt stepped into the hall, stopping dead when she saw the headmaster. "Ah, this must be Petunia! Good evening," he nodded to her. "We have corresponded, of course."

Harry glanced at his aunt, remembering that their last "correspondence" had been a Howler from the Professor, reminding her that Harry must be allowed to stay at Privet Drive as per her agreement with him.

"And Harry!" Dumbledore said, apparently just noticing him, though he couldn't have helped but felt the sudden gust that had blown through the hallway and out the front door, fluttering his robe and waist-length beard. "Excellent, excellent!"

Vernon, who'd been scowling at Harry, wondering how he'd caused the gust of wind inside the house, turned back to stare at Dumbledore, who smiled engagingly back at him, saying, "We best not to spend too much time in the open, in these dangerous times. Shall we assume that you have invited me warmly into the comfort of your sitting room?" Without waiting for an answer he stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him, while Vernon stared at him, dumbfounded, as Dumbledore walked into the Dursleys' front room.

"Er —" Now that Dumbledore was _here_, Harry realized that he'd fallen asleep before he'd packed the last of his things. "I can be ready to go in…a few seconds Professor," he said, jerking a thumb towards his room. "Really, I can!"

"I don't doubt it, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a knowing smile. "And yet, there are a few matters I would like to clear up with your aunt and uncle, before we leave."

"Oh, is that so?" Vernon, who had followed Harry and the professor into the living room, said in a rather belligerent tone. Petunia looked at him, her eyes wide, as if she couldn't believe he was daring to speak to the headmaster of Hogwarts in that tone.

"Yes, that is so," Dumbledore said simply. In a fluid motion he waved his wand, and the sofa that was behind them suddenly shot forward, knocking their legs out from under them, so that they fell onto it. Another wave of the wand and the sofa slid back to its original position. Harry heard a soft gasp and realized it had come from the top of the staircase. A quick glance with his x-ray enhanced vision told him that Dudley was watching fearfully from the upstairs hallway. Deciding it was best to let him stay there, he began concentrating on what the professor was saying.

As Dumbledore put his wand away, Harry noticed his hand, which was blackened and shriveled, almost if it had been burned up. It had not been that way the last time he'd seen the headmaster. "Sir," Harry began, "what happened to your —"

"Later, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him. "If you would take a seat, please." Harry complied, taking the last armchair, watching Dumbledore carefully. He did not want to look at the Dursleys. Vernon, who seemed stunned speechless by what had just occurred with the sofa, was beginning to look like he would start shouting at any moment, while Petunia simply looked scared.

"Some refreshments would be quite welcome at this point in our visit this evening," Dumbledore said, looking at the Dursleys pensively. "Yet, I sense that waiting for our hosts to offer something would be optimistic in the extreme. Therefore —" His wand came out again, and a few deft flicks he had materialized four glasses and a dusty bottle, which quickly poured its contents into the glasses and floated to each of them in turn. Harry took his and sniffed, then sipped. It tasted quite delicious, though he'd never had anything like it before.

"Madam Rosemerta's finest oak-matured mead," Dumbledore nodded to Harry, then sipped from his own glass with a satisfied sigh. Harry snuck a quick glance at the Dursleys; neither of them had touched the glasses floating in front of them — both seemed rather scared to touch them. "It's quite tasty," Dumbledore offered, seeing their hesitance, but neither moved to take the glass. Dumbledore took another drink, finishing the glass, which then disappeared from his hand.

The headmaster turned to look at Harry. "First of all, I should tell you, Harry, that your godfather Sirius Black's will was discovered a week ago. He left you everything."

Harry sat back in his chair, not surprised but not happy at this news, either. He could feel his uncle's beady eyes on him, and knew that Vernon Dursley was wondering just Harry had been left. He didn't know if Dumbledore intended to tell him what he'd been left but he'd rather his aunt and uncle not hear it. "Er, okay," Harry said, uncertainly.

"Normally, this is a straightforward situation," Dumbledore continued. "But, there is a difficulty —"

"Wait a minute," Vernon spoke up, finally having regained his voice. He pushed the glass of mead floating before him aside. "His godfather's dead?"

"Yes," Dumbledore answered.

Vernon was getting a crafty, cunning look in his eyes. "What did he leave the boy?" He watched Dumbledore, leaning to one side as the glass of mead floated back in front of him.

Dumbledore looked at Harry to answer this. "You inherit a fair amount of gold from him, which has been transferred to your vault at Gringotts, and all of Sirius's personal possessions, as well as number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the Black family home, which brings us to the somewhat problematic part of the legacy —"

"He's inherited a _house_?" Vernon said greedily, giving Petunia a triumphant smirk. She simply stared at him, then turned back to look fearfully at the glass of mead still floating in front of her.

Harry was shaking his head, however. "I don't want it," he said, firmly, causing Vernon to swell with indignation. "You can have it," Harry continued, to Dumbledore. "You're already using it anyway, aren't you?"

"You are generous, Harry," Dumbledore said, softly. "But there is a problem, nonetheless, and we have temporarily vacated the building."

"What for?" Harry wanted to know.

"Black family tradition decrees that the home was to be handed down in a direct line to the next male with the name 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line; his younger brother Regulus having predeceased him; neither of them had children. His will makes it clear that you should have the house, Harry, though there may be a spell or enchantment upon the house to ensure that it could only pass to a pureblood."

Harry was nodding, remembering the portrait of Sirius's mother screaming at them for being in her house. "I'll just bet there is," he said sardonically.

"Yes, and if so," Dumbledore went on, "then such an enchantment would most likely cause ownership of the house to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would be Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "No," he said. "She's the one who —" _who killed him_, he didn't say aloud. "So," he asked instead, "how are we going to figure out who owns it?"

"Fortunately, there is a simple test," Dumbledore said, but before he could explain, Vernon said loudly, "Will you please get rid of these ruddy glasses?" Harry and the headmaster both turned to look at his aunt and uncle, who were both trying to push away the glasses of mead, causing them to slosh onto their clothes and the sofa.

"Oh, I am so sorry," he said, and with a flick of his wand both glasses disappeared as well as the spilled mead. Though Vernon looked almost ready to explode, Dumbledore simply turned to Harry and continued as if the man hadn't spoken. "If you have inherited the house, then you have also inherited —" and with another flick of his wand, there was a loud _crack_, and a small, ugly humanoid appeared, with enormous ears and bloodshot eyes, and a snout for a nose — a house-elf, Harry realized.

Petunia screamed, an ear-splitting shriek, and Vernon's beady eyes grew wide as he stared at the nasty little being that had appeared on his living room carpet. "What the bloody hell is _that_?" he shouted.

"It's Kreacher," Harry breathed, recognizing the ugly creature from Grimmauld Place.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher _won't_!" the house-elf was saying over and over again, refusing to look at any of them.

"Yes," Dumbledore concurred. "He is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership, Harry."

"Well, I don't want him," Harry declared, as Kreacher stamped his foot and declared he would not work for Harry, only for Bellatrix, his new mistress.

"Bear in mind, Harry," Dumbledore pointed out, "that Kreacher has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year."

Harry paled, seeing the problem. "So what do I do?"

"Give him an order," Dumbledore suggested, as Kreacher continued to rant that he wouldn't listen to anyone but Mistress Bellatrix. "If he has passed into your ownership, he must obey it. If not — well, we must think of other alternatives."

"Kreacher won't, won't, _won't_!" the house-elf kept saying.

Annoyed, Harry turned to it and shouted, "Kreacher, _shut up_!"

Kreacher's rant cut off in mid-statement. His bloodshot eyes grew large with surprise, then he flung himself to the floor, giving in to a violent but completely silent tantrum.

"Well, that makes things simpler," Dumbledore said, cheerfully.

"But now what?" Harry asked. He looked down at the house-elf silently screaming and kicking on the floor. "What do I do with it — him?" Harry really didn't want to have anything to do with the foul little house-elf.

"May I suggest sending him to Hogwarts?" Dumbledore replied, diffidently, "to work in the kitchens? The other house-elves can keep an eye on him there."

Harry nodded, agreeable, then looked at Kreacher and said, "I want you to go Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves." Kreacher gave Harry a look of deepest loathing before disappearing from the floor with a loud _crack_.

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "We have a few other matters to discuss, but can do that while on our way. Is your trunk packed, Harry?"  
"Yes — er, mostly," Harry said, remembering he had a few things to finish up. "I can be ready in a few seconds." An idea occurred to him as he said this, and from between his nearly closed lips he sent a short blast of air silently at the curtains covering the front window, which fluttered loudly. When Dumbledore and the Dursleys glanced toward the noise, Harry left his chair as fast as he could, moving up the steps and around a motionless Dudley, who was peering down the steps at the going's-on in the sitting room. Still at super-speed, he slipped into his room, stoppered the inkwell on his desk and placed it and a few clothes still scattered on the floor into his trunk, closed it and grabbed the handle, taking it downstairs (carefully avoiding hitting Dudley, still motionless at the top of the stairs) and dropping it next to the cupboard door before sitting back in the chair he'd been in, before anyone looked back toward him. The only thing that gave any indication something had happened was the gust of wind that passed through the sitting room, which Harry had displaced as he entered the room.

"In fact," he said, as they turned back to him, pointing into the hallway. "My trunk is right there. All I need to do is get Hedwig from my room."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, coming to his feet. Vernon rose as well, however.

"When is he getting all of this inheritance he's supposed to have?" he demanded, glowering at Harry.

"It is done," Dumbledore answered. "A wizard's will, once read after his death by any interested party, immediately confers the terms of the will to its benefactors. Harry now owns number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and all of its contents."

"But — but he's only a boy," Petunia protested.

"It is true he will not be considered an adult for another year," Dumbledore conceded. "But that does not make him incapable of ownership. The gold from Sirius's vault has already been transferred to him, as has the house, as shown by his ownership of Kreacher."

"But that can't be righ!" Petunia insisted. "He's younger than Duddikins, who's only sixteen. It will be two years before he's an adult!"

"Ah, I see the misconception," Dumbledore said, gently. "In the Wizarding world, a person is considered an adult when they turn seventeen."

"How preposterous!" Vernon rumbled, but the professor seemed not to notice.

"I do have one other matter to discuss with you," he said after a moment, looking at Harry's aunt and uncle, "concerning Harry's stay with you over the past fifteen years. I hope you are both aware that Lord Voldemort has returned to this country and is operating in the open once again, creating a state of open warfare among his factions and those of the Wizarding government of Britain, along with anyone seeing fit to oppose him.

"This same Voldemort has already attempted to kill Harry on a number of occasions, and he is in even greater danger today than when I left him on your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as if he were your son."

Dumbledore sighed, and Harry felt a chill pass through him, in spite of the professor's calm manner and words. The Dursleys may have felt something too, because Vernon and Petunia edged closer to one another.

"However, you did _not_ do as I asked," Dumbledore continued, peering at the other two adults over his half-moon glasses. "Harry has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands."

Petunia was shaking her head, and Vernon's black mustache was bristling with his anger. "We've never beaten the boy!" Vernon snapped, "though lord knows he deserved it sometimes! You've no right —"

"I have every right," Dumbledore interrupted coldly, his patience rapidly ebbing in the light of what Vernon had unthinkingly said. "The magic I evoked fifteen years ago gives Harry powerful protection while he can still call this house his home. However miserable you made his life while he stayed under your roof, however unwanted his presence here was, however badly he was treated, you have at least grudgingly allowed him homeroom.

"This magic will cease to operate the moment Harry turns seventeen — that is, the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this last thing: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the magical protections I have placed upon him will continue until that time."

Neither of the Dursleys spoke. Vernon's expression was odd, as if something were caught in his throat. Petunia, on the other hand, looked at Dumbledore, and seemed to bow her head slightly, in agreement.

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Well, Harry… I believe we are ready to go." He smoothed his black cloak and doffed his wizard's hat to Petunia as Harry walked into the hall to grab his trunk.

Seeing Dudley's eyes peering at him from the top of the staircase, Harry called up to him, "Hey, Dudley, want to bring down Hedwig's cage?" Dudley's eye blinked and disappeared, and a few moments later he reappeared carrying the cage, an alert Hedwig looking around with annoyance at the disturbance.

"Here you go," Dudley said, handing the cage to Harry, who took it and placed it on his trunk.

He turned to his aunt and uncle, still standing in front of the sofa. Both looked cowed by Dumbledore words to them, though Vernon was staring incredulously at Dudley, as though he could not believe what he'd just witnessed his son do.

"Good luck, Harry," Dudley said, and stuck out his hand for his cousin to shake. Harry stared at it a moment, unable to process what Dudley wanted, then finally understood and gripped it carefully, being sure to apply only normal human strength.

"Thanks, Big D," Harry said, smiling. "Take care." Dudley nodded and walked into the living room to join his parents, as Professor Dumbledore stepped over to glance at Harry's belongings.

"I will send these on ahead of us to the Burrow, Harry," he said. "We will travel more easily without them for now." He lowered his voice slightly and added. "However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak along. Just in case."

Harry complied, opening the trunk and extracting the silvery-gray cloak, being careful not to show Dumbledore how messy the rest of his trunk was. He closed the trunk, folding the cloak and placing it in an inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing. Dumbledore nodded and waved his wand over the trunk, cage and Hedwig, and all three vanished from the hallway. With another small flourish of his wand, the front door opened and he and Harry stepped outside into the cool, misty darkness.

As they began walking down Privet Drive, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Now that we are no longer with your aunt and uncle, Harry, were you and Clark able to do any training with your newfound abilities?"

"Yes," Harry answered immediately, almost bursting to tell someone about the things he could do now. "He showed me a lot of stuff about how to use these powers. They're completely amazing! I can hardly wait to show Ron and Hermione what I can do!"

"Harry." Dumbledore stopped, placing a hand (his left one, Harry noticed, the one that wasn't blackened and withered) gently on his shoulder. "I do not want to forbid you from telling them, but showing your friends your new powers will only raise questions about how you got them and where they came from. If our friend Clark is to come to Hogwarts to be given the opportunity to learn how to use the magical ability he obtained from you, he will naturally be a suspect as part of that mystery."

"But we can't reveal who he is!" Harry objected, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to show Ron or Hermione what he could do now.

"True," Dumbledore allowed. "But they could still figure it out for themselves," he added.

"I thought the Fidelius Charm kept that knowledge hidden," Harry said, confused.

"It does," the headmaster told him. "But one of the drawbacks of having the Secret Keeper hold his own secrets, even indirectly, is that it is possible for him to unknowingly reveal information about himself, through actions or deeds which, however innocent in appearance, may allow someone to deduce or infer the hidden information. If Clark unconsciously wishes someone to know his secret, he may unwittingly drop clues or tidbits of information to them. The charm prevents anyone else who knows the secret, such as you or I, from doing this."

"Huh," Harry said, absorbing what Dumbledore had said. "I suppose we better make sure he knows that, too — so he can avoid letting anyone know unconsciously who he is."

"Do you know when you'll see Clark again?" Dumbledore asked, as they resume walking along Privet Drive.

"I was going to visit him after I got settled at the Burrow," Harry replied.

Dumbledore nodded agreeably. "Do you know where he is now?" he then asked. Harry glanced at the headmaster, wondering what the reason was for his sudden curiosity in Clark.

"He was going to visit his mother," Harry answered the question, though unsure why the professor had asked it. "In Smallville, Kansas, in the United States. At least, that's where he said she lived."

"I do recall that, Harry," Dumbledore smiled brightly at him. "I am just a bit in awe of the fact that you'll be able to travel there with as little effort as I might travel from Three Broomsticks to the Hogshead Inn, in Hogsmeade.

"But for now," the professor said, "I have another destination in mind — one I hope you'll be able to help me with."

"If I can," Harry agreed. They were now at the corner of Privet Drive, and Harry noticed that none of the street lights seemed to be working at the moment.

Dumbledore gave him a sideways glance. "You have not yet, of course, passed your Apparition Test."

"No," Harry shrugged. "I thought you had to be seventeen."

"You do," Dumbledore said. "So, you will have to hang onto my arm very tightly. My left arm, if you please," he added, as Harry reached for his wand arm. "As you may have noticed, my wand arm is a bit fragile at the moment."

Harry took hold of his headmaster's left arm. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"To see an old friend, and make a request of him," Dumbledore said. Without another word he turned in place, and both he and Harry disappeared from the corner of Privet Drive.


	4. Rich Man, Bar Man, Wandmaker, Thief

**Harry Potter Returns  
**_A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover_

**Chapter Four  
****Rich Man, Bar Man, Wandmaker, Thief**

_Updated 11 June 2010_

It was well after midnight Saturday morning by the time Harry and Professor Dumbledore arrived in the country lane that would lead them to the Burrow, Harry's second favorite building in the world. Apparition hadn't been too bad this time — Harry had been expecting it when they'd left Budleigh Bubberton, but it was still an unpleasant experience, as if he'd been pushed through a rubber tube.

As they stepped through the gate, Dumbledore touched him lightly on the shoulder (which Harry almost missed — he hadn't felt the professor's hand, but had glimpsed the motion) and said, "Before we go inside, Harry, I'd like a few words in private with you, if you don't mind." He pointed to a run-down stone outhouse which the Weasleys used as a broom shed. Harry nodded and followed the headmaster inside, into a space not much larger than his old cupboard-under-the-stairs, back on Privet Drive. It had been a long time since he'd been forced to sleep in there, thankfully!

It was dark inside the shed, but Harry's enhanced vision allowed him to see everything as clearly as if it were broad daylight, even with the door closed. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, dazzling Harry for a moment, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the new light level. He and Ron had been in the shed before, but only briefly — Harry now saw (and heard) numerous spiders moving along the walls and ceilings of the shed. Ron was deathly afraid of spiders, he knew.

Curious to try something, Harry extended his eyes' focus beyond the walls of the shed. They became nearly transparent, so that he could see the gate they'd just passed through, and the Burrow a dozen yards away in the opposite direction. At the same time, he tried to keep a normal view of the headmaster — but it was difficult to do. Harry kept catching glimpses of Professor Dumbledore's internal organs and skeleton, which was unsettling, to say the least! He quickly returned to normal sight as Dumbledore began to speak.

"I hope you'll forgive me for mentioning this, Harry," Dumbledore spoke, smiling gently down at him, "but I am quite pleased and a little proud at how well you are coping after everything that happened at the Ministry two weeks ago. Please permit me to tell you that I believe Sirius would be proud of you."

Harry hadn't thought much about that day since it happened. The conversation with Dumbledore, afterwards in his office, had been almost as traumatic as seeing Sirius fall through the veil, and he'd been dreading the moment when the headmaster brought it up again. But instead of chiding or scolding him for his behavior, as when Harry had done his best to destroy quite a bit of Dumbledore's office, before being told about the his reasons for not explaining about the prophecy sooner, here Dumbledore was actually commending him! Harry swallowed, feeling unable to say anything, just as he'd said nothing when his uncle Vernon asked, "His godfather's dead?" or had questioned about his belongings and house, and when Horace Slughorn, whom they'd just visited so Dumbledore could ask him to rejoin the Hogwarts staff, casually mentioned Black had died a few weeks ago.

"It was a cruel turn of fate," Dumbledore continued, softly, "that you and Sirius knew each other for such a short period of time. It was a brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."

Harry nodded, not looking up at the headmaster, but keeping his eyes fixed on a small spider that had fallen onto Dumbledore's long white hair. "It's just hard," he finally said, in a low voice, "to think that I'll never — never get a letter from him again." It hurt to think about it, even now, but while Sirius was alive he felt that someone in his family was thinking good things about, that there was someone out there who actually cared for him. He might never have that feeling again, now that Sirius was gone.

Except for Clark.

"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," Dumbledore said, gently. "Naturally, the loss is devastating."

"But," Harry continued, "After I got home from school, and saw some object falling out of the sky and went after it, to see what it was, and found Clark exposed to kryptonite and dying, I realized that if I had retreated from everything, had shut myself up in my room like I wanted to after I got home, he would probably be dead now as well. It would be awful if Superman died just because I was sitting in my room feeling sorry for myself! And Sirius wouldn't want me to hide myself away."

Dumbledore nodded gravely in agreement. "It is often difficult to reconcile the death of others when we make decisions that may contribute to those deaths. Both Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance were following Order instructions — _my_ orders — when they were killed by Death Eaters. I believe Amelia was killed by Voldemort himself."

Harry stared at him, horrified by this news. "I — I hadn't heard… I'm — I'm sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Thank you, Harry. I'm sure you know how keenly the death of ones close to us can affect us."

Harry nodded, angry now that Death Eaters had begun operating so openly in just the few weeks he was gone. "Professor, I promise you — if they come for me, I'm going to take as many Death Eaters with me as possible, and Voldemort as well, if I can!"

"Ah! Spoken like your mother and father's son, and Sirius's true godson!" Dumbledore exclaimed, giving Harry's shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Now, on a related subject," the professor went on, "I surmise from your reaction to Amelia and Emmeline's murders that you have not been reading the _Daily Prophet_ these past few weeks, have you?"

"No," Harry said, wondering what the Wizarding world's newspaper had been saying.

"They have provided some excellent grist for the rumor mill," Dumbledore went on, "including some interesting hypotheses concerning you and your friends' activities in the Hall of Prophecy."

"Oh, I'll just bet they did!" Harry looked scornful. "I suppose now _everybody_ knows I'm the one who has to —"

"Actually, they do not," Dumbledore interrupted him. "Only two people in the whole world know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing here in this smelly, spidery broom shed." He smiled, a bit wryly. "However, many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you."

Dumbledore held his wand a bit higher, looking carefully at Harry. "Now, am I correct in assuming that you have told no one of the contents of the prophecy, not even Clark?"

"No," Harry shook his head.

"Nor even that you know the contents of the prophecy?" Dumbledore persisted.

"No," Harry said again.

"A wise decision," Dumbledore nodded. "Although I think it would be fine if you were to include your friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger in that knowledge." Harry looked started, and the headmaster added, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want to worry them —" Harry began.

"Yes, or frighten them," Dumbledore interrupted, staring at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps to admit that you yourself are worried or frightened. You need your friends, Harry. And as you so rightly pointed out earlier, Sirius would not want you to shut yourself away."

Harry looked thoughtful for several moments. "What about my new powers, sir?" he said. "If you think I can trust them with the prophecy, why shouldn't I tell them about those?"

Dumbledore almost seemed to sigh. "Harry, I imagine you are fairly bursting to tell someone about your new powers, but —"

"They _are_ my best mates in the whole world, sir!" Harry said, imploringly.

"But," Dumbledore continued, "I do not see how you can tell them you have abilities like Superman, from America, without jeopardizing Clark's secret if he visits Hogwarts in the fall, to study magic. I assume it was his and your intent to do that."

"Something like that," Harry said, scratching his head, trying to think. "But Superman is quite different from Clark, he told me. Clark is very, well — 'meek' was the word he used. I don't think anyone would be able to tell they're the same person, even _without_ the Fidelius Charm you made to hide it."  
Dumbledore scratched the tip of his nose. "I am not entirely convinced it is prudent, Harry. However, the final decision to tell them, or not, must be up to you. I will leave it in your capable hands. Now, on a different subject, yet still related to Hogwarts, I wish you to take private lessons with me this year."

"W-what?" Harry blurted, completely surprised. "Private lessons — with _you_?"

"Yes," Dumbledore smiled at Harry's reaction. "I think I should take a greater hand in your education."

"Um, what would you be teaching me, sir?" Harry asked, curious.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," Dumbledore replied airily. Harry waited for him to continue, but the headmaster did not elaborate.

Harry had another thought. "If I'm having lessons with you, sir, does that mean I don't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape anymore?" he asked.

"_Professor_ Snape," Dumbledore corrected him. "And no, you will not."

"Good," Harry breathed, relieved, "because those lessons were —" he stopped, not sure how the headmaster would react if he said what he was really thinking.

"— a fiasco?" Dumbledore finished the sentence for him, however, smiling.

Harry grinned. "Well, something like that, yes. I guess that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now one," he commented, "since he won't let me keep up Potions unless I get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L.s, and I'm pretty sure I didn't."

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look. "Don't count your O.W.L.s before they're delivered, Harry," he said, cryptically. "Oh, and by the way," he added. "I believe you may expect them sometime today." He reached into his robes, bringing out his pocket watch, the one with twelve hands and little planets that moved around the edges of the face. "I see it's getting quite late," he noted. "I've but a few more things to discuss with you, before we go inside.

"Firstly, I would like you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times — even within Hogwarts itself." At Harry's puzzled look, he added, "Just in case. Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded.

"Also, the Burrow has been placed under the highest security possible, now that you are here. This has resulted in some restrictions on the Weasleys — Arthur and Molly's posts are now screened by the Ministry, for example. I tell you this, Harry," Dumbledore went on, looking at him carefully. "Not because they have complained — indeed, they are very glad to have you here! — but because it would be poor form for you to put yourself at risk while staying with them."

Harry nodded again. "I agree, sir," he said. "But things are a bit different, now that I have these superpowers. _And_ my magic seems to be more powerful than before, as well."

Dumbledore considered this. "I understand you may feel well-nigh invulnerable, Harry — but please remember, even with super abilities you are still susceptible to magic, just as Superman is. However," he pondered silently for a few moments. "Perhaps it would be best if we became more proactive with Clark concerning his new magical abilities."

"How so, sir?"

"I think it would be useful to procure a wand for Clark, in preparation for his magical training," Dumbledore advised. "If you can get in touch with him, Harry, you and he should travel to Diagon Alley and purchase one for him. As soon as you can, in fact — with Voldemort operating in the open once again, and the recent attacks in London, I do not know how long establishments such as Ollivander's will stay open."

"Why would Voldemort care about a wand shop?" Harry wondered.

"I am only speculating, Harry," the headmaster said. "But Voldemort will seek to make it more difficult for the Wizarding world to operate normally, and wands, of course, are quite important to its normal operation. Therefore, I adjudge that Ollivander's will be on the list of shops he will eventually force to cease operating in Diagon Alley."

"I will get in touch with Clark as soon as I get settled in the Burrow," Harry agreed.

"Good!" Dumbledore gave him a hearty smile. "Also, I think it would be useful for the two of you to come see me at Hogwarts — but _after_ your birthday party at the end of this month, Harry — I would not want you to miss that, nor deprive Molly and her family the pleasure of having it."

Harry smiled; his birthday last year had not been memorable — he'd spent the day crawling around under his aunt and uncle's living room window, trying to listen to the news without getting caught, since Vernon and Petunia did not approve of teenaged boys doing things like listening to the news, especially Harry. His uncle was _quite_ sure Harry had some ulterior motive for doing so, and had not allowed Harry to sit with them to watch the newscasts, prompting Harry's sneaking around behind their backs.

"I wish Clark could come to my birthday party," Harry said, wistfully. When Dumbledore looked at him doubtfully, Harry shrugged and added, "I know, that probably would be going too far — _nobody_ would believe that someone like Clark Kent would just show up at my birthday party without a reason."

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore agreed, but then added, brightly, "But you and he will see each other again right after, at Hogwarts — I should begin thinking of a way for him to start learning magic quickly. He pushed open the door of the broom shed, and he and Harry exited it. "Ah, I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you look."

=ooo=

An hour later, Harry was lying in bed in Fred and George's old bedroom, a room filled with stacks of cardboard boxes containing an assortment of half-finished joke items, folders bulging with parchment documents of all kinds of things, from old owl-order forms from when the twins were running their joke shop out of the Burrow, to business plans envisioning a half-dozen Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shops spread across Britain and Europe. Harry knew this because he'd had a look through all of the boxes in the room as he lay in his bed, bored and unable to sleep.

Most of his inability to sleep was due to excitement over his anticipated trip to America later that morning, to see Clark. Harry had been mulling it over, and decided the easiest way to contact Clark was just to fly over there — it should be an easy matter to locate Smallville, Kansas, once he was in America, and from there the farmhouse where his mother lived. Clark had shown him on a display in the Fortress how to pick out landmarks he could use to find the small town in north central Kansas, and an aerial view of the countryside surrounding his farm. It would be a doss.

In fact… Harry sat up, wondering whether he should consider going to Smallville _now_. He certainly wasn't going to get any sleep lying here anticipating the trip, that was for sure! On the other hand, he had _just_ promised Professor Dumbledore he wouldn't do anything risky while he was here at the Burrow. Harry dithered a moment, unsure what to do… but the temptation to get out and fly was just too strong.

In a second Harry was up, out of his pajamas, and back in jeans, a dark T-shirt from his drawer of clean clothes, and trainers. He would have to be back within a few hours, no later than seven a.m., to be sure of being back in bed in case someone came up to wake him for breakfast. He made a quick X-ray sweep of the house, making sure that everyone was asleep. Below him, on the first floor, he saw Ginny and Hermione, both asleep in Ginny's room. His gaze lingered a moment on Ginny, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Hermione was snoring softly — Harry smiled, wondering how he might tease her about that.

As his eyes swept the remainder of the first floor, he saw someone sleeping in the bedroom next to Ginny's — a girl! But what a girl! Even sleeping, she seemed to radiate an aura of beauty and glamour. Harry realized after a moment who it was — Fleur Delacour! He hadn't seen her since the Triwizard Tournament during fourth year. What was she doing sleeping here at the Burrow?

Well, he would sort that out later. Looking upward, two floors above him, was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom. They had turned in for the night, he saw, but were talking quietly about the events of the day. Harry let his vision move further up in the house, to the fifth floor and Ron's room, where Ron was lying, asleep and pretty much dead to the world. Tonks had left earlier, just as he and Dumbledore arrived, but Harry wondered if there were other Aurors stationed around the Burrow — the enhanced security the professor had mentioned. However, a quick check around the perimeter of the house in the immediate vicinity revealed nothing and no one to either his enhanced sight or hearing — he'd thought to use his hearing in case someone was under an Invisibility Cloak like his.

Opening the window enough to allow him to slip through, Harry let his flying power carry him straight up into the air, rising until he was a couple of miles above the ground. He laughed, enjoying the exhilaration of being in the air again under his own power, then took a deep breath and shot upward, out of the atmosphere.

It was only a matter of a few seconds' flight across the Atlantic and over the United States. Harry stopped approximately over where he thought Kansas was. Things might get a bit tricky from here on — he knew that Smallville was located northwest of Concordia, Kansas, near a river that flowed along the outskirts of the town. The Kent farm was north of the town, nestled between the river on the west and a railroad spur that ran along its eastern boundary. A county road also ran along the eastern border, and there was a driveway from it up to the farmhouse and barn. Clark had pointed out the mailbox, clearly marked "Kent" on its side, at the edge of the driveway. It had all seemed very simple and easy when Harry had been looking at it on the display in the Fortress. Now, he just hoped he could find it without too much trouble!

Concordia was north of highway Interstate 70, along U.S. highway 81. With his super-vision, Harry finally located that junction, and then followed 81 north until he found Concordia, a smallish town he judged was about the size of Little Whinging. Going to the northwest, he located the river and followed its winding path until he found another small town, less than half the size of Concordia, and the county road 9 5/10 (_a strange name for a road_, Harry thought, though it reminded him of Platform 9 ¾). He examined the few mailboxes he found until he came across one marked "Kent," then flew down quickly to land next to it.

There was six hours time difference between Smallville and the Burrow; it was a bit after 8 p.m. here, Harry calculated; the sun was low in the west, but there would still be sunlight for a while. At the far end of the drive, perhaps a quarter mile, was the Kent farmhouse, and perhaps fifty yards away, the barn. Harry had no idea how big the actual farm was, but he hoped Clark was somewhere near the house or barn, or he might have to take to the sky again, to get a better view so he could find him.

But after only a few seconds of searching, Harry located Clark working in the barn, replacing old pieces of wood in the walls and shelving. Harry watched for a few seconds as Clark fitted a board by trimming it with his heat vision, then blew off the burnt edge with his breath and put it in place, pushing nails through the board with his thumb. He was working at a leisurely pace, Harry realized, considering how fast Harry knew he could move, if he wanted to. Harry started up the drive, walking at normal speed but, realizing it would take several minutes to walk the distance at that rate, switched to super-speed and appeared at the door of the barn a moment later. "Hi, Clark."

Clark looked around. "Harry!" he smiled, putting down a board he'd picked up and walking over to where his young friend was. "I thought you would be by sometime tomorrow morning, after you'd been at your friend's house for a while."

"I got bored," Harry shrugged. "But also, I talked to Professor Dumbledore again and he suggested we get you a wand before the wand shop in Diagon Alley gets shut down."

"Shut down?" Clark repeated. "Why would it be shut down?"

Harry hadn't said much to Clark about Voldemort or the war that was now brewing in the Wizarding world in Britain. While he'd been in the Fortress learning about his new abilities, it seemed like all of that was remote, far away. Not thinking about it had also kept Harry from thinking about his godfather, Sirius Black, who he would never see or talk to again, because of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, especially Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd caused Sirius to fall through the archway in the Death Chamber, killing him. "It's a long story," Harry finally replied. "But basically, this bad wizard wants to take over Britain, and kill me."

Clark looked concerned. "You mentioned him before — Voldemort, I believe you called him."

"How'd you remember —" Harry smiled. "Oh, yeah — super memory."

"You've only mentioned him once," Clark said. "I thought this was something that happened in the past."

"Well, it did," Harry said, not really wanting to get into it. "But he's still around, trying to build up his power again and take over Britain."

Clark glanced toward the house. "You can tell me more about this later," he said, softly — his voice was barely a whisper. "For now, I'd like you to meet my mother." Harry looked around, seeing an older, gray-haired woman walking toward them from the house, carrying two glasses.

"Good evening!" the woman called. "I see you've met my son, Clark." She stopped in front of the two of them. "I'm Martha Kent. I don't think I've seen you before, Mister —"

"I'm Harry Potter, ma'am," Harry said, politely.

Martha Kent gave her son a look. "Harry Potter? Well, I guess you know Clark already, then," she said. She held out both glasses toward them. "Would you like some iced tea, Harry?"

Clark had already taken one glass, thanking her. Harry nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am," taking the glass. _Iced_ tea? He sipped at the drink, finding it not as bad as expected, since he'd heard Americans like tea this way, especially in the summer — in fact, it was quite refreshing, better than the lukewarm tea he'd had to drink at the Dursleys, because they couldn't be bothered to keep it hot for him, when he was finally allowed to eat. "Thank you," he added, smiling at her, and she smiled in return.

Martha folded her arms and gave him a shrewd look. "So what brings you out here to Kansas, Harry?"

"Uh, well —"

"I've told Mother about you, Harry," Clark interjected. "She knows what you are, and what happened to us when I arrived on Earth."

"And I'm very grateful to you for saving Clark's life," Martha added, looking at Harry seriously. "I've missed him these past five years."

Harry's head was nearly spinning. After the big deal Clark had made out of _his_ secret, he'd just gone ahead and told his mother all about who and what Harry was —! But, she was his _mother_, after all, Harry realized — and if she could keep secrets about her son's identity, she could surely do so about wizards living in Britain. "I, um — I can understand that," he finally replied. "I suppose the whole world has missed him as well," Harry added, making an oblique reference to the fact that he knew Clark was Superman.

"Well," Martha smiled at him, giving Clark another look. "Why don't you boys come inside — I still have some apple pie left, unless Clark has been sneaking slices."

"I just had three slices for dessert, Mom," Clark protesting, grinning. "I haven't touched any since!"

"Well, come on inside, then," she said, turning toward the house. "This heat is beginning to get to me." She started walking back.

"It doesn't feel that hot," Harry said softly to Clark, as they followed his mother back toward the farmhouse.

"It's about 92 degrees right now," Clark said, just as softly. "Your invulnerability keeps you from feeling hot or cold temperatures — you won't even perspire anymore."

Harry nodded, digesting this. Perspiring hadn't been a problem while they were in Antarctica! "Your mum's nice," he said, nodding toward her.

"Yes she is," Clark agreed, smiling wryly. "Except she's already got me meeting an old friend of mine and her son this weekend — I'm not sure when I'll be able to get away to make that trip with you, to Diagon Alley."

"We should really go tomorrow," Harry suggested. "As soon as we can."

"Are things that serious?" Clark asked. "Is this Voldemort causing that much disruption in your lives over there?"

Harry thought about Fleur Delacour, sleeping in the bedroom next to Ginny's room. He had no idea why she'd be at the Burrow — unless, like his own parents, something had happened to her parents. Maybe the Weasleys were helping her because something had happened to her family. Harry hoped he was wrong, but… "It's — complicated," he said, still reluctant to bring Clark into his problems. They had enough of them to deal with already! "But it won't take us long to fly over and get you a wand, and I can try to explain more then."

"Okay," Clark said. They'd arrived at the house, and he opened the screen door for Harry. "Now, have you ever had apple pie before, Harry?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "Is it like apple tarts?"

Clark smiled. "Maybe, but I think you'll enjoy it more with a big scoop of ice cream on top."

It had been a while since Harry had any ice cream. "I suppose I could have a go at that," he grinned. He glanced at his watch. "But I've got to head home before one a.m., so nobody'll miss me."

"Don't worry," Clark said, as Harry sat down at the kitchen table, watching Martha Kent cut two large slices of apple pie, leaving a smaller slice for herself. "Mom goes to bed with the chickens — we'll have you out of here long before then!"

"Oh Clark!" his mother chided him. "Don't exaggerate! I'm up sometimes as late as ten o'clock!" She got a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. "You wanted some ice cream on your apple pie, right Harry?"

"Uh, yes ma'am," Harry said, eyeing the pie expectantly. It _did_ smell delicious.

=ooo=

Lana Lang pulled into the driveway of her rental home on the south side of Smallville just as it was getting dark. The trip from Concordia to Smallville didn't take long — it was a mere ten-minute drive, though she had to navigate a number of country roads between the two small towns. But it had been a very long day, at the end of a very long week, and Lana was exhausted. She slowly walked inside, mentally preparing herself to be cheerful in front of Ricky and his sitter.

The two of them were sitting on the sofa in the living room as Lana entered the house, watching a DVD. "Hi," Sarah, the sitter said, looked around as she heard the door open. "Your mom's home," she nudged Ricky, and he jumped up, running around to greet her.

"Hi, sweetie," Lana smiled, hugging him as he ran to her, throwing his arms around his mother. "How was your day?"

"Okay," Ricky said, sounding bored. "Sarah and I played catch this afternoon."

"Did you get your chores done?" Lana asked.

"Yes," Ricky said immediately. After a short pause he added, "Most of 'em."

"Hmm," his mother said, giving him a stern look. "_Most_ of them, huh?"

"He helped with the dishes tonight, too!" Sarah added, brightly.

"Yeah!" Ricky agreed. "I can get the rest of 'em done tomorrow, okay?"

"We're going out to Mrs. Kent's tomorrow," she reminded him. "You'll have to do them when we get back."

"Okay," he shrugged. "I got a book at the library today," he announced. "I'm gonna go read it." Lana nodded, and Ricky tore off toward his room.

Lana sagged a bit, but smiled at Sarah and said, "Thank you for staying this late. My boss had a hundred things for me to do, and they all had to be taken care of before next week."

"No problem," Sarah demurred. "Ricky's a great kid, it's fun to sit for him. Especially in the summer," she added, "I don't have any homework to worry about." She suddenly yawned. "Oh, excuse me! I must've woke up just before you got home. Ricky can really wear you out sometimes!"

Lana laughed. "Don't I know it! It's nice to get him out on the Kent farm, where he can run and play to his heart's content. I just wish there were more kids in the neighborhood his age for him to play with." Ricky was nearly eleven; his birthday would be coming up early next month.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "He nearly wore me out playing catch, earlier — he's got some really wild moves he can put on a baseball, let me tell you! It was hard for me to catch some of them. I think he's going to be a pitcher when he gets older."

"I'm sure that would make his father happy," Lana said, a trace of sarcasm in her voice. Ricky's dad, her ex, was a jock who'd never graduated from high school, mentally speaking. She glanced at a nearby lamp table. "Oh, what happened here?"

The lamp on the table was lying on its side. Sarah stared at it, puzzled. "I don't know! It was standing up the last time I saw it today. Maybe the cat knocked it over."

"We don't have a cat," Lana said, standing the lamp upright again.

"Oh," Sarah said. "I thought —" she stopped, looking guilty and confused.

Lana looked at her. "What?" she asked.

"Well, " Sarah answered, slowly. "Ricky plays with a cat we see outside sometimes. He usually asks for an extra slice of bologna at lunch, to feed it. I thought it was yours, sorry," she said, contritely. "It's a gray tabby."

"Mmm," Lana said, wondering why her son had never mentioned it before to her. "I'll have to ask him about that." She reached to pick up her purse from the chair she'd dropped it in, then remembered. "— Oh drat! Sarah, I'm sorry, I worked so late tonight I didn't get by the bank today! Can I pay you tomorrow afternoon, after we get back from the Kent farm? I'll go past the bank on the way there tomorrow morning."

"Sure," Sarah nodded. "No problem." She yawned again. "Oh! Sorry!"

"Do you want a ride home?" Lana asked, a bit concerned. "Ricky must have worn you out!"

"No, I'm fine," Sarah insisted. "It's just —" she looked around the room, an anxious expression coming over her. "It just seems like I have weird dreams whenever I'm in this house, lately."

"Weird dreams?" Lana asked. "Like what?"

"Oh, doors opening and closing by themselves," Sarah said, looking around again and shivering a bit, even in the evening heat. "Furniture moving itself. Stuff like that." She laughed, nervously. "I asked my dad if he ever heard of this house having a poltergeist, and he just laughed. He said that an old lady named Phyllis Potter used to live here, years ago, and that her husband — I forge his name, but it began with a 'P,' too — worked for the government as a research scientist.

"Dad said, when they moved out, it was sold to Mr. Dolan at the bank, and he's been renting it out ever since. Nothing weird about that, is there? Well, I'll give you a call tomorrow before I come over, to pick up my sitter money, okay?"

"Okay, Sarah." Sarah waved and walked out the door, to walk the half-mile to her parents' home.

Lana sat down in the chair she'd dropped her purse in, reflecting for a moment on the coincidences one experienced living in a small town. Now, at last, she realized why this house had seemed familiar to her from the day she returned to Smallville and the rental agent had shown it to her — she'd been here before, years ago, when she was very small.

Her aunt and uncle, Phyllis and Phineas Potter, had lived here many years ago. She remembered Phyllis as a smiling older version of her mother, though Phineas was actually her mother's brother. She barely remembered him, though — he was seldom home, as the work he did for the government took him on extended trips to various locations across the country. Living in a central location such as Kansas made it easier for him to make trips around the United States. Phyllis had passed on decades ago, while Lana was still in elementary school, but her uncle was still alive, somewhere, though she hadn't thought of him in years. As for Mr. Dolan, the banker — well, the less Lana thought about _him_, the better.

Even stranger than these small-town coincidences, however, was the strange things going on around this house. Sarah had thought she was merely dreaming, but Lana had experienced some weird occurrences in the two years she'd lived here, most of them in the past year — knocking sounds, doors opening and closing by themselves. Having seen movies like _Poltergeist_ and _The Amityville Horror_, Lana wondered if such things could be true — could there really _be_ a poltergeist in this house?

Lana shook her head tiredly. Perhaps she was just thinking crazy thoughts because she'd been working so hard. A good night's rest would probably fix her right up, she decided. And maybe she could chat with Martha, tomorrow, and see if she had any ideas on what might be going on — after all, Martha Kent had lived in Smallville for most of her life. Lana got up, going into the kitchen, to make herself a bowl of soup and a sandwich before going to bed. She would figure it out later—for now, she was too tired to do anything other than eat and sleep.

=ooo=

After dressing (for the second time that morning), Harry came downstairs to find Hermione sitting in a chair, still in great agitation over her imminent O.W.L. results, as Mrs. Weasley tried unsuccessfully to lessen her resemblance to half a giant panda. The black eye Fred and George's trick telescope had given her was still glaringly visible around her right eye.

"I can't understand it," Mrs. Weasley was saying anxiously, as she poured over a copy of _The Healer's Helpmate_, open to the section titled "Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions." "This has always worked before!"

Ginny, who was sitting at the table watching the drama unfold while the corners of her mouth kept twitching, said, "It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it won't come off."

"But it's got to come off!" Hermione said, shrilly. "I can't go around looking like this for the rest of my life!"

"Don't worry," Ron, who was also watching, his face kept carefully neutral, said. "Fred and George'll have something to take it right off, most likely."

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley added soothingly. "We'll find an antidote for it, never fear."

Fleur, who had taken over making preparations for lunch while Mrs. Weasley looked after Hermione, said serenely, "Bill told me 'ow Fred and George are very amusing." At least, Harry thought to himself, the reason why she was here was good news — she and Bill were getting married next year!

"I can hardly breathe for laughing," Hermione snapped, sarcastically. She jumped impulsively to her feet, walking around the room, twisting her fingers together in agitation. "Are you _sure_ no owls have come this morning, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley said patiently, putting down the book. "I'd have noticed. But it's barely after nine, there's plenty of time…"

"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," Hermione was muttering distractedly. "I'm sure I made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. Transfiguration went all right at the time, I thought, but looking back on it —"

"Enough, Hermione!" Ron snapped at her. "Harry and I are nervous about our O.W.L.s, too, you know! Just wait, you'll get your ten 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s and —"

"Don't, don't, don't!" Hermione cut him off, waving her arms frantically. "I just know I've failed _everything_!"

"Don't be daft, Hermione," Harry said, trying to reassure her. "You couldn't have failed anything! You're way too smart for that!" Hermione smiled at that, though she shook her head, disagreeing.

"At Beauxbatons," Fleur was saying, "we 'ad a different way of doing things — we sat our examinations after six years, not five, and then —"

"Oh, LOOK!" Hermione screamed, pointing through the kitchen window. Three black specks were clearly visible in the morning sky, growing larger by the second. Harry, with his enhanced vision, magnified the specks until he could see three tawny owls, each with a large, square envelope attached to its leg. Tempted to look through the envelopes and be the first to learn what their results were, Harry nevertheless resisted that impulse, joining Ron and Hermione, who had both raced impulsively to the window.

"They're definitely owls," Ron said, as the specks got closer.

"And there are three of them," Harry added, unnecessarily.

"One for each of us," Hermione whispered. She seemed terrified. "Oh, no…oh, no…"

Ron leaned back, looking at Harry. "You'd think they were three Grims, the way she's acting," he said quietly. Harry grinned.

"Open the window," Mrs. Weasley said. "So they can come in." Harry and Ron pushed up on the window, opening it, as Hermione wrung her hands nervously.

The three owls soared through the open window and landed on the kitchen table in a neat line. All three of them lifted their right legs, offering the envelopes attached thereon. Looking at the other two, Harry stepped forward first.

He could see his name written on the envelope of the owl in the middle. He quickly untied the string holding it as Ron and Hermione stepped forward as well, undoing the strings holding their results. Hermione's fingers were so unsteady that her whole owl seemed to tremble.

The kitchen was silent as Harry took a letter opener, handed to him by Fleur, and slit open his envelope. He slipped out the parchment sheet inside and looked at it. He had failed Divination and History of Magic, both as expected. He'd passed everything else, Astronomy with an Acceptable grade, but Exceeds Expectation in every other subject except Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he saw an "O" — Outstanding! He heaved a sigh of relief.

Looking up, he saw that Hermione had her back to him, but Ron was holding up his own parchment, beaming delightedly. "Only failed Divination and History of Magic," he said happily, "and who cares about them? Here — swap!"

He and Ron exchanged results. He looked down through Ron's grades. No "Outstandings" there, he saw…

"Look at that, knew you'd be top at Defense!" Ron said, punching Harry in the shoulder. "Ouch!" he said, pulling his hand back and shaking it. "Must've held my wrist wrong," he muttered, but Harry realized he'd been distracted and hadn't "given" with Ron's punch. He would have to be careful about that in the future — Ron tended to punch people, though not hard, especially when in a good mood or sharing good news.

"Well done!" Mrs. Weasley was looking at Ron's results. "Seven O.W.L.s — that's more than Fred and George got, combined!"

"Hermione," Ginny said tentatively, and Harry looked up. She still hadn't turned around to face them. "How did you do?"

"I — okay, I guess," Hermione answered, in a small voice, sounding unconvinced by her own words.

"Right," Ron said. He strode over and took her results out of her hands. "Let's see —" He looked up at Harry. "Nine 'Outstandings' and _one_ 'Exceeds Expectations,' in Defense Against the Dark Arts!" He turned to Hermione, incredulity on his face at the dour expression she wore. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry could see her face now, and it plainly showed her disappointment. He laughed.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now," Ron said, grinning. He looked at Mrs. Weasley. "Mum, are there any sausages left?"

Harry looked down at his own results, pleased with them. The only, tiny regret he had was that the "E" in Potions meant the end of his ambition to be an Auror — Snape would never let him into N.E.W.T. Potions with an "Exceeds Expectations," and he would need five N.E.W.T.s, including Potions, to become an Auror. It was ironic that a disguised Death Eater had first suggested that he'd make a good Auror, but the idea had grown on Harry, and now he couldn't really think of anything he'd rather do.

But, with the abilities he had now, if there was no way to transfer them back to Clark, perhaps being an Auror was too shortsighted a goal. If he could do the kinds of things Superman could do, he could be a lot more useful to the world once they sorted out Voldemort. In fact, Harry wondered, what was to keep him from finding Voldemort _right now_, and hauling him up before the Ministry, or even dispatching him straightaway? After all, Harry realized, he could probably break through any magical protections Voldemort had on him, and with his super-speed he could hit him a hundred times before he even knew Harry was attacking him! It was tempting…

But, before he did that, perhaps he should discuss it with Clark, Harry decided. It almost didn't seem fair, given the vast power he had now, to just decide he should kill someone. Clark had always warned him that his powers could easily be abused — perhaps this is what he was talking about. If he really _was_ the Chosen One, however, he was _supposed_ to kill Voldemort! The whole situation was a lot more complicated now than he'd expected it to be, when Dumbledore first told him the entire prophecy.

Harry glanced at his watch. He had agreed to return to Smallville around three p.m. that afternoon, when it was about nine a.m. there, and bring Clark to Diagon Alley to find him a wand at Ollivander's. He'd already promised to tell him more about the fight against Voldemort — he could find out what Clark thought then.

=ooo=

After a huge lunch, which they'd eaten early since Mr. Weasley had skipped breakfast after coming home so late the evening before, Ron had suggested they play a two-a-side game of Quidditch out in the Weasley's orchard. Ginny agreed enthusiastically, Hermione a bit less so, though she was clearly hoping for something to distract her from that one "E" she'd received. They chose up sides — Ron got Ginny and Harry, Hermione. They were about evenly matched, as Ginny was good and Hermione played dreadfully, though she did seem to enjoy herself.

It was strange flying on a broom again, Harry realized, once they'd gotten the orchard and started a few practice sweeps around it. He still enjoyed riding a broom, but he could maneuver much more quickly and precisely on his own now — using a broom was almost like a handicap to him! Still, he would have to get used to flying one again if he was going to play Quidditch at school this year. Ironically, he was using one of the old brooms from the Weasley's broom shed, so they'd all be evenly matched. But even his Firebolt was slow compared to how fast Harry could now fly unaided!

Each side had won a game, and they were in the middle of their third and deciding one, when Harry glanced at his watch and cursed silently. It was ten minutes past three! He was late to go get Clark for their trip to Diagon Alley! Harry quickly landed, feigning an injury to his shoulder.

Ron landed beside him. "What's wrong?"

"Twisted my shoulder, I think," Harry said, putting a grimace on his face.

"Let Mum have a go at it with her book," Ginny suggested. She and Hermione had landed beside them right behind Ron. "She should have you back flying in a minute — unless that's one of Fred and George's trick brooms," she added, with an evil grin.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I think I need to lie down for a bit, is all. You three can keep playing."

"Harry, I can't play alone!" Hermione protested.

"Keep your pants on," Ron said, complacently. "You can have Ginny — me against the both of you."

"Confident, aren't you, brother?" Ginny sneered at him. "You're on!" She and Hermione took off again. Ron looked at Harry.

"They're gonna pulverize me," he said, resignedly, and flew up again as well. Harry waved (with his "uninjured" arm) and walked back to the broom shed, placing his broom inside. He glanced around, quickly making sure nobody in the house or in the orchard was looking his way, then shot straight into the air, faster than the eye could follow.

Within a few seconds he'd left the atmosphere, then stopped, looking around to orient himself for the flight to America. He found the correct direction and was about to accelerate again when he felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. Glancing around behind him, he flinched as he saw Superman floating beside him, smiling.

"You scared me!" Harry blurted, releasing the breath he'd been holding for his out-of-atmosphere flight.

"Sorry," Superman said. "When you didn't show up at nine I thought I'd come over and check to see why you were delayed." He looked down. "That's an interesting game you were playing — what's it called?"

"Quidditch," Harry said. "Normally it's played with seven players per side — three Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper and a Seeker. I play Seeker," he added. "We were just playing two-a-side, for a bit of fun and something to do."

Superman nodded. "You'll have to tell me more about it sometime," he said.

Harry suddenly realized where they speaking to one another outside the atmosphere. "Hey, he said, "How come we can hear each other when there's no air around us?"

"Because I'm gripping your shoulder," Superman said, giving a squeeze to remind Harry of his hand. "We're hearing each other through the vibrations our vocal cords are making, and our inner ears are picking them up."

"Brilliant!" Harry grinned. "Hey, how about showing me how to fly supersonic in atmosphere? You promised you would, you know."

But Superman was shaking his head. "I would, Harry, but we've got less than an hour before Lana and her son are due to show up at the farm, and Mom expects me to be there."

"No problem," Harry said. He glanced at Superman's red and blue uniform. "Um — did you bring anything else to wear? That suit might be a bit conspicuous, even among witches and wizards."

"Don't worry," Superman said. "I've got my regular clothes with me as well. I'll change after we've landed, if we can find a secluded area wherever it is we're going."

"London," Harry said, "on Charing Cross Road. There are a lot of smaller streets around there, we should be able to find something."

A few moments later they were hovering several miles over London, as Superman scoped out a likely spot to change near where they were going. He finally found an old phone booth several blocks away, and pointed it out to Harry, who smiled. "That's the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic!" he told Superman, grinning. "Funny that you'd pick that spot to change clothes in!"

"Well, any port in a storm," Superman shrugged. "It will only take me a second. When I come out, I'll check the area again and give you a thumb's up. Then you speed down and land next to me. Sound good?"

Harry nodded, and Superman vanished. When he glanced down again, Clark Kent was stepping out of the phone booth, looking around as if getting his bearings. Harry wished he could move that fast, especially in atmosphere. He was going to _have_ to get Clark to show him how to avoid sonic booms and other disruptions when moving supersonic though the air.

Clark gave a thumb's up gesture and Harry shot downward, landing next to Clark. There was a cracking sound, and Harry looked ruefully down at the sidewalk — his abrupt landing had broken it in several places. "Sorry," he said softly. Clark gave him a _practice-makes-perfect_ look, and they started walking over to Charing Cross Road.

As they passed in front of the book store, Clark saw the grubby little pub nestled between it and the record store on the other side. "This is the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked, looking at Harry. "It's not very big, is it?"

"It's bigger inside," Harry replied. When Clark gave him a quizzical look, Harry just said, "You'll see. Come on. And let me do the talking in here for now. Tom knows me."

"Tom?"

"The barkeep," Harry nodded.

"Aren't you a bit young to be going into bars?" Clark inquired, his voice turning stern.

"Nah," Harry disagreed. "I first came here when I was eleven." Clark looked startled, and Harry added, "I didn't have anything to drink then, though. You'll see," he said again. "Besides, it's not that big a deal — lots kids my age drink, and loads more'n I do." He walked inside, with Clark following him, shaking his head.

The pub was rather empty this early in the afternoon, but some of the regulars were still there. Harry nodded at Doris Crockford, who smiled and gave him a cheery wave with her glass, sloshing it a bit. As Clark and Harry watched, she made a _tching_ noise, then tapped the spilled liquid with her wand. It sloshed back into her glass, and she sipped at it again, beaming happily. Harry gave Clark a grin and the two of them walked up to the bar.

Behind it, as usual, was Tom, the pub's proprietor, a bald, middle-aged wizard. He gave Harry a toothless grin.

"Afternoon, Mr. Potter," he said, and nodded at Clark. "Fancy a bottle of butterbeer today?"

"Hi, Tom," Harry greeted him. "Maybe on the way back through. We're on our way to Diagon Alley." He gestured toward Clark. "This is my friend, Clark Kent. He's visiting from — out of town."

"Pleased to meet yer, sir," Tom said, reaching across the bar to shake Clark's hand. "Any friend of Mr. Potter's is a friend of ours!"

"T-thanks," Clark said. Harry noticed he acted less sure of himself, more timid, than when they were alone. "It's really nice to be here in London."

"Hope you have a pleasant visit, Mr. Kent," Tom said, cordially. "Hope to see you later, Mr. Potter," he added, grinning toothlessly again.

Harry waved, then led Clark through the pub into the courtyard in the back. "Here's how we get in." He pointed to a particular brick above the rightmost trash can. "See this one? It's three up and two across from the lid of this dustbin." He tapped it three times with his wand. The brick quivered, then wiggled, then it and the other bricks near it began turning and twisting as a small hole appeared in the middle of the wall. The hole widened, becoming an archway, and a several bricks merged into a capstone over its top, with carved letters appearing on it that read,

**_Diagon Alley_**

Clark was staring at the archway in silent amazement, and Harry wondered if that was how _his_ face looked when Hagrid first brought him here. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Clark!" he said, and they stepped through.

The street was more subdued than the last time he'd been here. Harry realized why — with Voldemort operating openly, people were much more wary, more cautious, than they had been when he was just a name that no one spoke, of a man presumed dead by most. Clark, however, was getting his first real glimpse into a way of life he had never imagined before. He stared, fascinated, at the shops they passed — the cauldron shop just inside the archway entrance, with its copper, brass, pewter and iron cauldrons stacked beside the front door; at Quality Quidditch Supplies he peered through the window at the Nimbus series brooms displayed there; nearby was Eeylops Owl Emporium, and Harry explained that his own owl, Hedwig, had come from there when he first started going to Hogwarts, and that his friend Hagrid had bought it for him.

"Oh, _damn_," Harry suddenly said, smacking himself in the forehead.

"What's wrong?" Clark asked, tearing his eyes away from the sights of Diagon Alley to stare at Harry.

"I forgot to bring any money," Harry said, in a vexed tone. He reached into his pocket, but came up with only a Galleon and a couple of Sickles. "We'll have to stop at Gringotts and pick some up."

"What's Gringotts?" Clark asked.

Harry pointed. "_That's_ Gringotts," he said. Clark turned and stared at the towering ivory building that loomed over all the other nearby shops. "It's a bank, run by goblins." Clark gave him a bemused expression, as if he'd never expected to hear those two statements spoken together.

"It's where most wizards keep their money," Harry added, walking toward the entrance. "It'll only take a couple of minutes," he added, then nodded to the goblin that opened the door for them, bowing. Clark nodded as well, staring a bit longer at the goblin than was polite. The goblin stared back at him sharply, as if to say, _What are _you_ looking at, human_?

Inside was a second pair of doors, silver ones this time, with words engraved on them. Clark quickly read the words, then remarked, "They sure make it plain no one should try to steal from them, don't they?" The two goblins standing in front of the doors opened them and bowed Harry and Clark inside, to a vast marble hall where dozens of goblins were seated behind a long counter, engaged in various activities. There were a few other witches and wizards there as well, doing business.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Not like that has stopped someone from trying."

"Who would try to rob a place like this?" Clark wondered aloud.

"Voldemort would," Harry answered. "He tried it later the first day I was here, on my eleventh birthday, but the thing he was trying to steal had already been removed."

"What was he trying to steal?"

"That's another long story," Harry sighed. They approached the counter, where a clever-faced goblin eyed them warily. Harry realized they were both dressed in Muggle clothes. "Hi," Harry said. "I need to get into my vault. Harry Potter."

"You have your key, sir?"

"Oh, _damn_," Harry said again, grimacing. "I didn't think I'd need it!"

"No key, no vault," the goblin said. "No exceptions."

"It's half-past three already," Harry said to Clark. "I don't know if I'll have time to get back home and back here to make it to Ollivander's."

"Maybe you could just pick one up for me?" Clark suggested.

Harry shook his head. "No, for best results, you need to pick out your own wand."

"Perhaps _I_ could open an account?" Clark suggested, looking at the goblin.

The goblin looked at him, an expression of near amusement on his sharp little face. "Perhaps you could," he agreed. "_If_ you have anything of value to put in it. We charge a one percent fee for all monies deposited in our standard vaults."

Clark considered a moment, looking around. He turned back to the goblin, pointing to a small stove and bucket standing nearby. "What's in that bucket?" he asked.

The goblin looked around, perplexed by the question. "Coal," he said, giving Clark a dubious look. "What _else_ would be sitting next to a stove?"

"May I have a piece of it?" Harry blinked. _What in the world_ —? he thought.

The goblin regarded him shrewdly for a second. "What do you offer?"

Clark looked taken aback for a moment, but took it in stride. "What do you ask?"

The goblin was silent a moment, twirling his slender beard thoughtfully. "One piece of coal, one Galleon," he said at last.

"A _Galleon_?" Harry exclaimed. "You're joking!"

But Clark nodded. "I'd like the largest piece, please."

"That is acceptable," the goblin agreed.

"_What_?" Harry said, utterly flabbergasted by the conversation.

"I'll pay you back, Harry," Clark said, holding out his hand. Harry, not really knowing what was going on but deciding to trust Clark, dropped the Galleon in his hand, which was in quick order traded for a decent-sized lump of coal.

"A pleasure doing business with you, sir," the goblin said, and Harry though he detected a trace of smugness in his voice. _The foolish wizard just paid a whole _Galleon_ for a lump of coal_! "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

Clark had turned away, cupping the coal in both hands. Harry thought he saw Clark's arms strain for a moment, as if he were exerting tremendous pressure. When he turned around, however, he was holding a lump of clear, glittering material. "Yes, I do," he said. "Do you have any way of assessing the value of this?"

The goblin sucked in his breath for a moment, taking the lump carefully from Clark's hand. "Amazing," the goblin said, his voice an awed whisper. "I have never seen a diamond so large, so flawless…"

"I would like to exchange it," Clark said. "For gold, for my first deposit to my new account. The goblin's jet-black eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "I'll have one of our top gemologists appraise it for you." He jumped down from his stool and quickly ran out of sight.

"What did you do?" Harry whispered, as soon as the goblin was gone.

Clark looked at his hands, then spoke as softly as Harry had. "It was a little harder than the last time I tried that — I guess my strength _is_ down a bit, though. I turned the coal into diamond."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You can _do_ that?"

"Yes," Clark said. "While I prefer to earn my money by working for it, like most people, this situation called for quick thinking, since this may be our only chance to buy a wand, from what you've said. And you still have to tell me the situation with this Voldemort character —" there was a small commotion as several nearby goblins reacted to Clark saying the name. "Especially when no one seems to want to hear his name."

"Everyone is really afraid of him," Harry explained. "Some people think that he hears it every time someone says his name."

The goblin reappeared, carrying the diamond. Hopping back up on his stool, he looked gravely at Clark and said, "I am authorized to offer you ten thousand Galleons for this."

Clark glanced at Harry, who was blinking rapidly, in disbelief. But still, that didn't sound like enough to him. He shook his head slightly. Clark turned back to the goblin. "I think it's worth about fifty thousand," Clark said, calmly.

"FIFTY THOUSAND?" the goblin sputtered. "Preposterous! Outrageous!" He fell silent for a moment. "I cannot go higher than twenty thousand," he finally said, looking unhappy.

"I can perhaps drop my price to, say, thirty thousand," Clark said, looking unhappy as well.

"Twenty-two thousand," the goblin offered.

"Twenty-six thousand," Clark countered. There was several moments of strained silence.

"Twenty-five thousand," the goblin said finally, almost choking on the words.

"Deal," Clark said.

"Very good, sir!" the goblin grinned, his whole demeanor changing now that the transaction was completed. I will be back shortly with your key. I assume a standard vault will be sufficient, sir?" Clark nodded. "And, how much gold would you like to take with you today, sir?"

Clark shrugged. "A hundred Galleons should be enough. Right, Harry?" he asked. Harry just nodded, dumbstruck by what he'd just witnessed. Clark had just turned one Galleon into _twenty-five thousand_ Galleons in less than a minute!

The goblin disappeared, returning a minute later with a tiny gold key and a bag that clinked loudly as he dropped it on the counter in front of Clark. "I took the liberty of changing ten Galleons into smaller coins, sir," the goblin told him. "After our usual deposit fee, your vault now contains twenty-two thousand, four hundred Galleons. Here is the key to your vault, number 313. Have a pleasant day, sir."

Clark thanked the goblin and he and Harry walked out of Gringotts. Harry was still shaking his head in wonder. "That was brilliant, Clark! Even magic can't create wealth — but you _can_!"

"It _was_ an emergency," Clark replied. "By the way, Harry, how much is a Galleon worth, in human money?"

"The exchange rate is held at one Galleon equals five British pounds," Harry said. "My friend Hermione told me that, once. But I don't know what that would be in American dollars."

"I can find out," Clark said, looking around the for several seconds as they walked down the Alley. "Ah, there we are. One British pound exchanges for $1.55 American."

"How d'you know that?" Harry asked, looking around the street they were walking along. "Where'd you see that _here_?"

"Not here," Clark said. "One of the nearby banks had the exchange rate posted."

"X-ray vision," Harry grinned. "Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"

"It comes with a little experience, Harry," Clark patted him on the shoulder. "You'll learn." He looked around, noticing that few people had come this far into Diagon Alley, and that several shops they'd passed were empty or boarded up. "I just hope that this Mr. Ollivander is still safe, so that we can warn him he may be a target for this Voldemort character."

They continued down the cobbled street until they came to one of the last shops in Diagon Alley — a narrow, shabby store with peeling gold letters above the door that read, "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." Harry led the way into the shop, looking around. A bell tinkled somewhere as they stepped inside. There was no one up front, but before Harry could use his vision powers to search the rest of the shop an old man stepped out of the back room, giving each of them a smile and a nod. For a moment Harry wasn't sure it was Ollivander but a look at his wide, pale eyes, eyes Harry remembered from his first time in this shop, confirmed his identity.

"Harry Potter," Mr. Ollivander said, in his soft voice. "Nice to see you again. Your wand — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple — how has it been working well for you?"

"Er — fine," Harry said. He gestured toward Clark. "I — I brought someone in who needs a wand. This is my friend, Clark Kent."

Ollivander smiled graciously at Clark. "Mr. Kent, a pleasure to meet you." Clark took a step forward, offering his hand, but the old man shook his head.

"Please excuse me, Mr. Kent — I don't shake hands with potential customers. I've found that it can affect the wand selection process." He reached into his pocket, asking, "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm right-handed," Clark said.

Ollivander nodded absently. "Hold your arms out to your side, palms forward." He stepped up to Clark, then smiled. "You are a bit taller than most of my first-time customers, Mr. Kent — how tall are you?"

"Six foot, four inches," Clark replied, as Ollivander measured his arm at various places, then from his shoulder to the floor and several places in between.

"As Mr. Potter may have mentioned," Ollivander spoke as he measured. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. Of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand. Hmm, curious," he said at last, stepping away from Clark and regarding him with evident interest.

"What is it?" Clark asked, curious himself at what the old man meant.

"You pose an interesting problem, Mr. Kent," the old man said. "I pride myself on always having the right wand for any customer, yet I cannot seem to get a proper 'reading' from you as to the types of wands you might respond favorably to. Quite curious. What type of wands have you used before?"

"Er —" Harry began, trying to head off Clark's response, but it was too late.

"I've never used a wand before," Clark said. "This is my first one."

"Indeed?" Ollivander seemed intrigued. He looked at Harry. "Did you know this, Mr. Potter?"

"Er —" Harry said again, but Ollivander waved off any further reply.

"No matter, no matter," he said, squinting at Clark and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I enjoy a challenge. You may be my trickiest customer since Mr. Potter himself came into my shop five years ago, Mr. Kent." Ollivander went to his shelves and after a few moments of scanning them, took down three boxes.

"Let's start with these," he said, handing the first wand to Clark. "Walnut and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, very sturdy. Just give it a wave."

Clark took the wand and waved it a couple of times, but nothing happened. "What's supposed to happen?" he asked, but Ollivander simply plucked the wand from his hand, replacing it with another. "Mahogany and unicorn hair, eleven inches, pliable. Go on, go on, give it a wave."

But Clark had barely finished waving it the first time when Ollivander took it from him as well. Ironically, he was smiling quite happily after these first two failures. "Well, we'll find something, never fear, Mr. Kent." He handed a third wand to Clark. "Oak and phoenix feather, thirteen inches long, quite sturdy. Give it a go."

Clark waved the wand, which suddenly burst forth with a shower of red and blue sparks, momentarily lighting up the entire shop. "Wow," Harry breathed excitedly — Clark's wand had responded even more intensely than his own had, five years earlier.

"Excellent!" Ollivander crowed. "Bravo, Mr. Kent! An unusual combination, too, much like yourself, I sense. It should serve you well."

"How much for it?" Clark asked, holding up his bag of money.

Ollivander looked mildly abashed. "I regret to say that business has dropped off, lately; I have been forced to raise my prices accordingly. Ten Galleons," he said, almost apologetically. Clark counted out ten gold coins and handed them over. He glanced at Harry, giving him a small _go-ahead-tell-him_ nod.

"One other thing you should know before we go, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore thinks Voldemort —" Ollivander closed his eyes momentarily, but did not flinch "— is targeting certain shops in Diagon Alley, to make it more difficult for the wizarding world to go about its normal business."

"That is unfortunately true," Ollivander agreed. "The Dark Lord's followers have already closed several shops here, and you can see that not as many people are out shopping as before, even at the end of the week."

Clark had been examining his wand. He looked up as Ollivander finished speaking. "But what can be done to stop him?"

Ollivander turned his great silvery eyes toward Clark. "Nothing can be done, I'm afraid, Mr. Kent — except perhaps by the Chosen One."

"And who is that?" Clark asked.

Harry and Ollivander looked at each other for a moment. Harry almost expected the old man to point at him, but Ollivander merely said, "Only the Chosen One himself knows, and thus far, he has not spoken on the matter."

"Just who is this 'Chosen One'?" Clark persisted.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, and thank Professor Dumbledore for the warning," Ollivander said to Harry, ignoring Clark's question. "But I will continue to sell wands until it becomes impossible for me to do so. Enjoy your new wand, Mr. Kent." Without waiting for a response, Ollivander turned and walked into the back of his store.

Harry and Clark looked at each other. "Well, that's that," Harry said, shrugging. Clark didn't look very happy, but he nodded and left the shop with Harry. They began walking toward the exit.

"I've got about ten minutes to get back home," Clark said, glancing at Harry's watch. He handed the box containing his wand and his bag of Wizarding money to Harry. "Will you hold on to these for me, Harry? It would be hard to explain either of them if my mother or Lana happened to see them, and the simplest way to keep them out of sight is to leave them with you."

"Sure," Harry said, pleased that Clark trusted him enough to hold both his money and his wand. "I'll put them in my school trunk. They'll be safe there until we can visit Hogwarts. Oh —" Harry had just remembered Dumbledore's suggestion. "My headmaster asked if we could visit the school sometime after July 31, to talk to him about getting you started with magic. That was why he wanted you to get a wand."

Clark nodded, thinking. "That's in a few weeks. I think that will work — I'll be staying at the farm for a while, to catch up on things with my mother, before I go back to work in Metropolis — assuming my boss wants me back, that is. By the way," he added, curiously. "What happens on July 31?"

"Oh," Harry shrugged. "It's my birthday."

"Really?" Clark said, interested. "Congratulations! How old will you be?"

"Sixteen," Harry replied. He smiled wryly. "They're going to have a party for me at the Burrow. I think it's supposed to be a surprise, but Professor Dumbledore let the cat out of the bag."

Clark smiled. They passed through the archway into the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, then into the pub itself. Harry waved at Tom, saying "Gotta run!" as he and Clark passed by the barman. Tom smiled and waved in return. They stepped out onto Charing Cross Road and began walking briskly toward the Ministry of Magic's visitor entrance. Harry was silent, almost brooding about Clark leaving. He wouldn't see him again for over two weeks. Clark seemed preoccupied with getting back to America before Lana and her son were supposed to arrive at the farm.

"Well, Harry," Clark said, as they approached the booth. "Thanks for helping me get into Diagon Alley, and I hope you have a wonderful birthday party —"

"Too bad you can't come to it," Harry said, impulsively. "Last year I didn't even have a party — I was at my aunt and uncle's house, and they never bother with it." Well, he wasn't above trying a little guilty persuasion of his own.

Clark looked taken aback. "Well, I don't know, Harry — did you mention this to your professor?"

"Yeah," Harry said, disappointed that Clark had asked that question. He didn't want to lie to him. "He didn't think it was a good idea."

Clark took that in stride. "Did he say that you visiting me was a bad idea as well?" he asked.

"Well — no, I guess not," Harry replied. "In fact, he seemed to expect it."

"Well, if you don't mind meeting an old friend of mine, and her son," Clark suggested, "you could drop by later this afternoon at the farm. They'll be there helping my mother with a few things around the house, and I'm sure they'll stay for supper. I can introduce you as the son of some people I met while traveling around the world over the past five years — that's what Clark Kent was supposed to be doing while I was exploring Krypton. What are your aunt and uncle's names?" he asked.

"Not them," Harry shook his head emphatically. "You would _not_ like meeting the Dursleys. My real parents were James and Lily Potter."

"James and Lily Potter, then," Clark agreed. "I'll tell Mom you may be dropping by, and let her know what your background is. She knows not to mention anything else about you." Clark glanced around the nearby surroundings, checking for anyone who might be in the area. Now take a step back," he warned. "I'll be moving pretty fast when I leave the booth."  
"You still have to show me how to do that," Harry reminded him. "Traveling subsonic in the atmosphere is such a _drag_." He grinned at his pun.

"Very funny," Clark said, deadpan. "First chance we get," he promised. "See you later, Harry." He stepped into the booth, and a blur of blue and red seemed to flash by Harry's eyes, even though he was watching carefully.

"Wow," Harry said to himself, still awed by the speed Superman could attain without breaking windows out of nearby buildings, or causing huge backwashes of air. He slipped the bag of money into a pocket, holding on to the box with Clark's wand in it, then leapt into the sky as well, faster than human eyes could follow, traveling in a westward arc at just below sonic speed that would take him home to the Burrow.

=ooo=

It had taken several weeks of travel, but the _Gertrude_ was finally within scanning distance of the northern shores of Antarctica. Luthor had spent the time painstakingly going over the satellite readings Stanford had taken, as well as enjoying some of the finer amenities he had brought along from the Vanderworth mansion.

But pool had gotten boring after a few weeks of smoking the other men at rotation, eight-ball and nine-ball (though Brutus had eked out a few wins against him, surprisingly), and Luthor's repertoire on the piano was limited to classical pieces, which he could listen to on his collection of vinyl records, audio tapes, or CD's whenever he wanted. Kitty was content to read her murder mystery and gothic romance novels, and the others all had their various pointless pastimes. Luthor was relieved when Stanford called him up to the control room to announce that the northern shore of Antarctica was in radar range.

"Good," Luthor said. "Any contact on the other equipment?" The "other equipment" was Stanford's enhancement to the radar system that would locate the peculiar crystalline structure of Superman's Fortress; it had been Luthor's design but Stanford had worked out the actual engineering. Once again Luthor congratulated himself on finding the young Indian-American.

"Not yet," Stanford shook his head. He pointed to a graphic of the Antarctic continent on a view screen. "It was approximately in this region here —" his finger circled an area about the size of Connecticut "— but we'll have to get closer to pinpoint it any closer than that."

"Keep on it," Luthor ordered, and Stanford nodded. "How long will the overland trip take, do you think?" he asked.

Stanford thought for a few seconds. "Best case," he replied, "if it's closer to shore and we can use the snowmobiles the entire way, about a day's travel. Worst case —" he looked at Luthor, a little concerned. "About a week," he finished. "That means carrying two weeks' worth of water and rations, each, not to mention any other equipment we'll need, Mr. Luthor."

"I'm well aware of that," Luthor said, absently. "I'm willing for you all to make the effort," he smiled at Stanford, who smiled nervously back, pretty sure his boss wasn't joking about that.

"But we'll cross that ice bridge when we come to it," Luthor said, turning to leave. "For now, I'll have Brutus and the others begin breaking out equipment and supplies for the trip."

After contacting his lead henchman, Luthor made his way back to his study, the converted grand ballroom of the yacht, finding it deserted. Kitty was probably off somewhere, bored and eating something fattening. Luthor settled into a comfortable chair with one of his favorite books on advanced chemistry, including proposed transuranic elements and where they fit into the periodic table. The authors were numbskulls but they did have a few flashes of insight, Luthor admitted. What he knew about such elements — one in particular, a glowing green element with an odd metal-crystalline structure — would have made them gasp in wonder.

Of course, it wasn't like he'd ever write a peer-reviewed paper on it, or expect that anyone in the scientific community would give him the time of day, ever again, but he was too wealthy now to care about scientific recognition. Soon the entire world would recognize him — as its leader.


	5. The Jackpot

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Five  
****The Jackpot**

_Updated 2 July 2010_

Saturday afternoon dragged by for Harry, anxious as he was to return to Smallville and spend some time with Clark. He'd slipped back into Fred and George's room through the second-floor window, hiding Clark's wand and his bag of gold in the bottom of his trunk. A book in there caught his eye, _Indispensable Spells for Quidditch Broom-Smiths_, about spells used to enchant brooms for Quidditch-playing; seeing it jogged an old memory of a spell he might be able to use for his backwash problem. He pulled the book out of the trunk and flopped onto his bed just as he heard the sound of feet tramping up the stairs. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Harry said, and Hermione and Ron walked into the room, both looking windswept and flushed from their Quidditch section in the Weasley orchard.

"We won!" Hermione said brightly, and Ron gave Harry a shrug of feigned indifference.

"Well done, Hermione!" Harry said, then added, "Sorry, Ron."

"I let 'em win, of course," Ron said, loftily. "No way two girls could've really beat me —"

"Oh, you liar," Hermione sniffed, but she spoke teasingly. "So how's your arm, Harry?" she asked, looking at it with some interest.

"Better," Harry said, rubbing his shoulder once again. He pointed to the book next to him on the bed. "I've just been reading a bit."

"You feeling alright, mate?" Ron asked, with mock concern. "You must be coming down with something! Imagine — reading during summer holiday!"

"_I_ read all the time in the summer!" Hermione pointed out, a bit miffed by Ron's comment.

"I know," Ron replied, with a grin. "But I've always thought you were a bit mental."

Hermione glowered at him a moment, but she shrugged off the comment as a side effect of Ron being irritated over his loss. "Anyway," Harry said, showing them the book. "It's about spells used on Quidditch brooms. There's spell in here somewhere, a charm that keeps you from generating too great a backwash when you're flying —"

"The Fletchley Calming Charm," Hermione said at once. "What about it?"

Ron was staring at her. "How the bloody did you know _that_?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Language, Ron! Do you remember the book, Harry? I gave it to you for Christmas last year — I knew Umbridge couldn't keep you off the Gryffindor team forever, and I thought you might like to know something about how your broom works."

"Er —" Harry hadn't thought about it, but now that she mentioned it, he remembered the book among his Christmas presents from fifth year, the year he, Fred, and George had been permanently banned from Quidditch after getting in a fight with Malfoy, who'd been taunting them after their win over Slytherin. It had been a hectic time, then, with Mr. Weasley being bitten by Voldemort's snake outside the Department of Ministries just before the Christmas holidays. The Quidditch-themed title of the book had caught his attention, but the fact that it was about magic rather than Quidditch itself made it more like a school book; that had cooled Harry's interest down to merely scanning the pages once or twice. "Well, I remember the talking diary you gave me —"

"So you never even _read_ it?" Hermione looked scandalized. "It's a good thing I had a read through it before we came back from holiday, then! To think it's been lying there in your trunk all this time, unread…"

But it was being read now, as Harry skimmed through it, finding the page with the Fletchley Calming Charm described in it, along with a drawing of a person on a broom, showing normal air flow and how the charm reduced it to almost nothing. If he couldn't get Clark to show him how to fly at supersonic speeds without creating backwash, maybe this spell —

"So what d'you need with that spell anyway, Harry?" Ron asked, his voice becoming anxious. "Did something happen to your Firebolt?"

"Uh, no," Harry shook his head. "Just curious how that worked, is all."

After dinner with the Weasleys, Harry yawned, remarking that he'd had long day and was heading to bed. It prompted looks of surprise from Ron and Hermione,.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, concerned. "I think I have some Pepper-up Potion around here somewhere —"

"No, it's okay," Harry said, hastily. He was going to have to become a little more imaginative in his excuses. "I'll see you all in the morning."

Going upstairs to Fred and George's bedroom, Harry closed the door, casting _Colloportus_ on it. Finally, a chance to try out that Calming spell for himself! Hermione had discussed it at length earlier — her memory for spells was excellent, to Harry's good luck — and she pointed out it couldn't be cast on a person or living being; it had to be on an object like a broom or carpet, something that would build up wind resistance while moving fast through the air. It didn't have to be a broom, however; Harry found out from Hermione, who had read the entire book, that Snitches had the enchantment on them as well.

Harry expressed an interest in seeing the spell performed, but Hermione balked at casting spells out of bounds until Harry related the conversation between him and Dumbledore (though not the circumstances of that conversation!) about the Trace. Her expression grew flinty as he explained that the Trace enabled the Ministry to know when spells were cast in the vicinity of underage wizards like Harry and herself, but not who was casting the spell. "And they never bothered to _tell_ us about that?" she demanded indignantly.

"Well, I suppose not," Harry replied, matter-of-factly. "That would ruin their ability to spy on us, wouldn't it? I'm not sure why Dumbledore even mentioned it to me," he pondered.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Hermione said excitedly. "It means we can perform magic when we're around adult witches and wizards, and they _won't know who's doing it_!"

"Right in one," Harry, who'd already sorted out that detail, agreed.

"And haven't Fred and George been performing magic for _years_ up in their room?" she went on, a bit shrilly. "And they were never caught out? How could I have missed that?"

"Well," Harry shrugged. "Sometimes the most obvious things happen under our noses and we never notice."

"Well, then," Hermione said, taking out her wand. "Let's just see about that spell!"

She rummaged through Fred and George's boxes of joke items to find something to use the spell on, smiling at what she came up with. In fact, it was the brass telescope that had given Hermione her black eye earlier that morning. Casting Fletchley's Calming Charm upon it, she then took a grim delight in identifying the various spells laid on it with Scarpin's Revelaspell — including the Calming Charm, which cast a faint, yellow glow when identified.

"It's quite ingenious, really," she said afterwards, referring to the telescope itself. She touched the blackened skin under her eye. "I just wish _I_ hadn't been the first one to find out what it did!" she added, ruefully.

Now, having watched Hermione perform both the charm and a revealment spell on an object enchanted with it, Harry was ready to try it himself. He cast it on the T-shirt, jeans, and trainers he planned to wear when he visited Clark later that evening. He then cast _Specialis Revelio_ on each item, seeing the yellow glow that confirmed the enchantments had succeeded. With the extra power his magic now seemed to have, he'd pretty much expected success.

Of course, Harry grinned to himself, there was only one way to _test_ them.

He checked his watch. It was about twenty minutes before nine p.m., making it just before three p.m. in Smallville. He didn't know how long he'd be gone — he hoped _Colloportus_ on the door would discourage anyone from bothering him. Well, there was one other thing he could do, to create the illusion he was asleep in bed.

Rummaging through his trunk, Harry found a small box containing several items he'd gotten from Fred and George last year, before they'd left Hogwarts. One item, Harry recalled, had been a small hornlike object that you could place in your bed (say, under the pillow), tap it, and it would produce a snoring sound. He dropped it on his bed, tapped it with his wand, and covered it up with a blanket to muffle the snoring somewhat, as if he were snug under the covers.

A few seconds later he had changed into his enchanted clothes, slipped the window open, and soared up into the sky. He darted upward, heading toward the upper edge of the atmosphere, but not _out_ of it this time — he wanted to see how well the Calming spell worked. Harry added speed until he was going transonic.

He frowned. _Something_ wasn't working correctly — he could feel the buildup of air pressure in front of him, indicating a shock wave was forming. His clothes _had_ been enchanted successfully — Harry had to conclude, disappointingly, that the Calming Charm wasn't meant to handle speeds approaching that of sound. Of course not — _no one_ would try to build a broom that could go that fast!

Soon he was flying over Kansas. Harry dove downward, aiming for the county road that went past the Kent farm. A sudden idea occurred to him, and he angled his descent so that he landed on the railroad track that led out of Concordia, about a mile outside the town. When he'd come here before, he'd run the quarter-mile or so from the Kent driveway up to the barn at super-speed. This railway track, he knew, ran along the eastern edge of the Kent farmland, according to what Clark had told him. If he ran, instead of flying the rest of the way there, Harry figured that he could get a better picture of how well the Calming Charm would work at lower speeds, and how fast he could go before it could no longer handle the volume of air he was displacing.

Harry took off, running along the right-of-way of the track, close to the fences along either side, where there were various types of grain growing that would let him see how much backwash he was generating. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the passing stalks of grain — so far, so good! His speed was about 150 MPH, the maximum speed of a Firebolt, yet the grain was hardly swaying as he passed! He accelerated, doubling his speed, but the grain remained steady as he passed. At these speeds, Harry knew, he would be little more than a black and blue blur to normal people.

The field he was running along came to an end, and Harry found himself running up an incline — he'd come to a road crossing the railway tracks! As the road leveled off his momentum carried him upwards into the air. He had just gone ballistic! For a moment Harry considered flying back down, but instead let his arc continue, looking around at the fields on either side of him as his leap took him higher and higher, then leveled off and he began heading toward the ground again. Interestingly, air resistance was slowing him down now, but he still landed, a quarter of a mile from the road, going almost 200 MPH. Wanting to really pour on some speed, he ran up to the railway tracks and continued running between the rails, to avoid the dips and bumps of crossing roads. Accelerating again, this time up to just below sonic speed, Harry felt the buildup of air resistance once again that signaled the limit of the charm's effectiveness. It looked like any speed up to the speed of sound would be handled by the spell, but no faster. It was a bit of a disappointment for Harry, because he needed the charm to work at speeds _greater_ than the speed of sound, not below it!

Glancing around to see where he was, Harry realized that, once again, he'd overshot his destination — the fields and farmland he was passing by were no longer familiar at all. He began slowing, then realized how long it was going to take him to brake down by slowing his pace and switched to flying, lifting his feet momentarily and willing himself to halt. That was _much_ quicker, he found — he decelerated from 500 MPH to naught in a fraction of a second, just as when he flew down from the sky at speed until just above the ground, then landed.

Retracing his path at a more leisurely speed (around 300 MPH) Harry kept looking to his right, until he saw the now-familiar Kent farmhouse and barn, roughly a mile to the west of him across a section of farmland. He knew there was a crossroads a miles or so further south, but it would be easier to cross the field directly. _And_ it would give him another chance to observe the Calming Charm in action.

Cutting in his flying ability for a moment, Harry made a hard right turn into the field, which looked like it contained half-grown stalks of corn. Speeding down between two rows at 300 MPH, Harry glanced behind him, seeing that the stalks were hardly swaying. He smiled, knowing that if he could run this fast without disturbing plants, he would be able to do the same thing in the halls of Hogwarts, if he needed to. That could prove _very_ interesting if he needed to be somewhere else in a hurry. One might not be able to _Apparate_ within the school or grounds, but there was nothing to keep him from running, or flying, just under the speed of sound!

As he neared the edge of field, seeing the road beyond it an the drive leading up to the Kent house, Harry suddenly realized it might look strange if he suddenly appeared at the farm with no discernable means of transportation. That was going to be a problem — his Muggle friends, the lady and her son that Clark had talked about — might wonder how he got there. Harry had no idea what kind of story might sound reasonable to them. So what to do?

Making a snap decision, Harry made a hard left at the far end of the field, running parallel with the road to his right, until he came to the edge of the field about a mile south, where another road crossed 9 5/10. Harry stopped there for a moment, to think of a cover story for his appearance. He checked his watch — it was about five minutes after three. He was a little late, but it couldn't be helped. And he was going to be even later unless he came up with a plausible story for showing up at the Kent farm. Was it reasonable for him to walk from Smallville to the Kent farm? It wasn't more than four or five miles north of town, after all.

The sound of an automobile attracted his attention. Harry turned and watched as the vehicle made its way toward the intersection. Harry could see the driver was looking at him, and he used his enhanced vision to get a better look at her. The driver was a red-haired woman, pretty, who looked to be in her early to mid-thirties. In the seat next to her Harry saw a young boy with brown hair, who he judged to be ten or eleven years old. The boy was staring at him too, his eyes just visible in the car window.

The car was slowing down, and Harry was suddenly self-conscious. Had he drawn attention to himself somehow? Suddenly realizing where he was — on the edge of a field of corn in the middle nowhere in the Kansas countryside, he probably did stand out a little! The car pulled to a halt, and the red-haired woman looked at him through the side window.

"Young man," she called. "Are you all right?"

"Uh, yes ma'am," Harry said, looking around as he walked up the side of the road toward the car. "I was just —"

"Are you hurt?" the lady asked. "You look like you fell down."

"He looks like he fell a _lot_," the boy added.

Harry looked down at himself and stifled a gasp. His T-shirt was ripped and torn in several places. His jeans had numerous small tears and looked _much_ more worn than when he'd put them on, just twenty minutes ago. And now that he was paying attention to his appearance, he could smell a faint odor of burnt rubber coming from his trainers. The Fletchley Calming Charm had worked, but not well enough — it had cut down the air backwash, but hadn't prevented air friction and small flying objects from tearing holes in his clothing. "Er — well, I…"

"I'm going over to a friend's house, she lives about a mile away from here," the woman interrupted him. "I can take you there — I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you needed to call someone."

"The Kent farm?" Harry inquired, by now pretty sure this was the friend Clark had referred to, and her son.

"Yes," she said, surprised. "How did you know that?"

"Well, actually," Harry said, "I was on my way there as well."

The woman blinked. "You know Martha Kent?"

"Well," Harry hedged. "I know her son, Clark. I was coming to see him."

"_Really_?" the woman seemed quite surprised and interested to hear this. "He's there _now_?"

"He should be," Harry nodded.

"Well, why don't you hop in," the woman suggested. "I can have us there in a minute or two. Oh," she added, as he opened the back door to get in. "I'm Lana Lang. This is my son, Ricky." She indicated the boy in the front seat with her.

"Hi," Harry nodded to her and Ricky. "My name is Harry Potter."

Lana turned around and gave him a very curious look. "Harry _Potter_?"

Ricky had turned around in his seat as well, and was staring. "What happened to you forehead?" he asked, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

"Ricky, it's rude to point," his mother told him, pushing his hand back down. "I'm sorry, Harry. Ricky asks a lot of questions."

"Oh, Mom," Ricky looked annoyed at her comment. "I do not! Do you think I ask too many questions, Harry?"

"Uh, no," Harry said, smiling a bit nervously.

"See, Mom!" Ricky looked triumphantly at his mother.

Lana gave her son a sidelong glance. "He's being polite, dear. Something _you_ could stand to do a little better with, do you hear me?"

"Oh, all right," Ricky turned around in his seat, pouting.

They pulled into the drive and up to the house. As Harry got out of the car he saw that Mrs. Kent had come outside; she and Lana were hugging each other. Ricky ran up to her and she bent down to give him a quick hug as well. "How are you doing, dear?" she asked him.

"Fine," Ricky answered at once. He pointed back at Harry. "We found someone in your corn field!"

"I see!" Martha said, smiling at Harry. "Clark told me you'd be coming to see him today. You're Harry Potter, is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry nodded. He walked to her and held out his hand, as if they'd never met, and Martha shook it gently. "It's nice to meet you."

At that moment Clark came outside. He smiled at Harry, then nodded at Lana and her son. "Hello, Lana. Mom told me you'd be coming to see her this weekend. It's nice to see you again."

"Clark!" Lana smiled brightly at him. "So you _are_ here! Your young friend Harry told me you were here." They stepped closer together, then hesitated for a moment before briefly hugging. "I'd like you to meet my son, Ricky," she said, after they'd parted.

"Hello, Ricky," Clark said, smiling at him.

"Hi," Ricky said quietly, suddenly shy.

Everyone was silent for several seconds, waiting for someone else to speak. Finally Lana turned to Harry. "So, Harry — what were you doing out in the middle of Martha's corn field?"

Harry hadn't really come up with a story for that. "Well…I… got into town a little earlier today," he said, slowly, feeling his way through a story that sounded reasonable. "And I thought I'd have a walk out here, to have a look around, and to see Clark."

"How do you know Clark?" Lana asked, curiously. "Martha's said that he was off traveling for the past few years."

"Uh, well…"

"I met Harry's parents over in England," Clark cut in, "just before I decided to come home again. Harry goes to a boarding school, and he returned home just before I left. I was telling him about Kansas, and he told me he thought he'd like to come over for a visit while he was on vacation from school."

"You live in England?" Ricky said, incredulously, "and you wanted to come to _Kansas_? What for?"

The other adults were chuckling. "Well," Harry said, taking the question seriously — it had always rankled him when he was younger, not having his questions taken seriously. "I had a chance to go on holiday somewhere I'd never been before," he explained. "And Kansas is a long way from England."

"How did you get here?" Lana asked.

"Oh, I flew," Harry said.

"You _flew_?" Ricky exclaimed, his eyes growing big.

"He means in a plane, Ricky," his mother pointed out, smiling. "You've probably had to do a lot of flying to get here, didn't you, Harry?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry agreed.

"Well," Martha said to Lana, "we'd better get going if we're going to get things done before dinner." She looked back at Clark. "Do you want to show Ricky and your friend Harry around the farm, Clark? We'll give you a holler when we're ready for supper."

"Sure, Mom," Clark said. "Talk to you later, Lana," he added, smiling at her.

"See you, Clark," Lana replied. "And Ricky, you behave now, you hear?"

"Yes, Mom," Ricky said, in a tone that made Harry wonder if he'd considered doing otherwise, had she not mentioned it. Once they were inside he turned to Clark. "Can we go look in the barn?" he asked. "My mom and Mrs. Kent wouldn't let me go out there alone."

"Sure, Ricky," Clark said. "Does that sound okay, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry said. He hadn't had much chance to look around earlier, either. He'd imagined that the Kent farm would be much like the Burrow, except larger, but soon discovered it was nothing like the Weasley home. Clark showed him and Ricky an old chicken coop, no longer used; other farmers in the area provided eggs at the market, and Martha no longer had the need to cook big breakfasts for Clark and her late husband, Jonathan, as well as the other hired hands they brought on for seasonal work. They'd never raised pigs or cows, either, as bacon, sausages and milk were normally available at the general stone in town.

Crops, on the other hand, took up a large part of the work day, though now most of the farm Martha leased out to other nearby farmers, at reduced rates; they in return helped Martha with the cropland she maintained. Between that, the money she and Jonathan had saved over the years, and the money Clark had sent her, Martha was able to live in relative comfort in her home.

Of course, Clark did not mention any of this to either Harry or Ricky; they were mostly interested in all the old farm implements stored in the barn, the old water pump, cranked by hand, which still worked (sometimes, depending on how dry the weather was), and Jonathan's ancient, rusted John Deere Model G tractor, from 1953, the last year it was made. Ricky was disappointed it didn't run, and was getting bored.

"I guess there really isn't that much to do around here," he said, in a pouting tone.

"Oh, there's a lot to _do_," Clark said, in his "typical Clark" manner, which seemed to Harry calculated to make people become bored and ignore him. He could see the usefulness in such a persona, especially if one had to slip away at odd moments and disappear. "It's just not the kind of stuff most boys would want to do on a Saturday afternoon."

"What do you want to do, Ricky?" Harry asked the younger boy. It was interesting, Harry found, to be around and talk to someone several years younger than himself; he hardly interacted with anyone more than one year beneath him in school — Luna and Ginny were the only two people that he knew who were younger than himself, offhand, and both of them were girls.

Ricky's eyes lit up. "How about playing catch?" he said, then sped off toward his mother's car without waiting for a response. He was back a minute later with a baseball mitt and baseball in his hands. "How about it, Harry?"

Harry looked at Clark. _How do you play catch_? he mouthed.

Ricky gave him a look of disbelief. "Don't you know how to play _catch_, Harry? Are you _kidding_?"

"Well," Harry said, a bit on the defensive, "I play a game where I have to catch a very _small_ ball," he held he fingers apart about the size of a walnut. "But I only have to catch it once and the game's over."

Ricky looked doubtful. "That sounds like a pretty weird game," he said. "No offense."

Harry laughed. "None taken," he said. "I thought it was weird when I started playing it, too. It kind of grew on me, though. Clark, Ricky and I are going to play some catch, if that's — eh? Where'd he go?"

Clark had disappeared, it seemed. But he reappeared a moment later, carrying a glove similar to one Ricky held. "I thought you might need this," he said, handing it to Harry. He showed Harry how to put it on his left hand, and how to hold it so the ball, when thrown, would land in the netting of the glove. It looked simple, Harry thought.

"Be careful how you throw the ball," Clark said, quietly enough that Ricky would not overhear. "Remember, he's just a normal kid."

"I'll remember," Harry said, in the tone of a teenager who'd been reminded by an adult of something he considered obvious. "How hard can this be, anyway?"

He and Ricky faced each other about a dozen feet apart. Harry was initially a little clumsy at catching the baseball; normally he used his right hand to catch the Snitch in Quidditch, not his left, but the glove helped. The ball they were using was bigger than a Snitch, but smaller than a Quaffle — it also had stitching on it, which Harry found helped him grip it a little better when he threw it. Soon he and Ricky were easily throwing the ball back and forth. The gap between them had widened, to about thirty feet, but with his speed Harry was having no difficulty catching the ball. If fact…it was beginning to get a bit boring, Harry thought. What was the point of this game, anyway?

"Hey," Ricky called, as he caught the ball from one of Harry's throws. "I want to throw some pitches. Do you think you can catch them, Harry?"

"I suppose," Harry said. He wasn't sure about the difference between "pitching" the ball and just "throwing" it. "Pitch the ball and I'll see if I can catch it."

Ricky nodded, then turned so his left side was facing Harry, his feet apart. He held his glove and the ball tightly against his chest for a moment. As Harry watched, he inexplicably looked over his left, then right, shoulder; Harry frowned, looking around to see what the younger boy was looking at. He didn't see Clark, who must've gone into the house. Ricky nodded at him, raised his arms over his head and brought them back to his chest, then suddenly cocked his arm back and threw the ball, stepping forward to add velocity to the pitch.

The ball was coming much faster than his previous throws, but Harry's ability to see at super-speed was easily compensating for it. What was weird, Harry saw, as the ball approached, was that while the initial path was to his left, as he watched the ball _curved_ at the last moment toward him, so that Harry had to twist his hand so his glove was directly in front of him when the ball reached him. That ball had a _lot_ of spin on it, Harry thought, to change its direction that much.

"Good catch," Ricky said, as Harry threw the ball back to him. "You're better than Sarah, my sitter — she _never_ catches that one!"

"Good throw," Harry replied. "What else can you do?"

Ricky showed him. He could make the ball do some pretty amazing things: it could dip at the last moment, it could rise, it could come in so flat and yet so slow that it was almost like watching one of his fast pitches at super-speed. Harry wondered how such a young kid could have learned to throw a ball so skillfully.

"See what you think of this one," Ricky called. "I call it the 'Corkscrew'." He wound up again, throwing the ball at Harry, who watched it curve slowly to his left and rise as it came toward him. But then it did a positively _strange_ thing — it began to curve back to his right as it dipped. Harry was pretty sure that _no one_ could throw a ball and make it do _that_.

At least, no Muggle could.

"That was a pretty good throw," Harry said, walking toward the younger boy. "I almost didn't catch it." Which was the truth — Harry been so surprised at the ball's corkscrew motion that he almost forgot to put his glove in front of it. "Where'd you learn to throw like that?"

Ricky shrugged. "My dad wants me to be a pitcher in the major leagues someday," he said. "We practiced a lot when I was a kid. When I watch baseball on TV I see the pitchers making these kinds of throws, and I've been practicing them myself."

"Do _you_ want to be a pitcher when you grow up?" Harry asked.

Ricky made a _who-knows_ face and shrugged again. "Maybe. I guess. I like pitching, but my coach has me playing left field. He says he wants a strong arm out there to get the ball back into the infield."

"Have you told him about your pitching?" Harry asked, wondering what his coach would do if he saw some of the things Ricky could make a baseball do. He vaguely remembered seeing the game Ricky mentioned on the telly a few times, back on Privet Drive, as an example of American sport.

"Yeah," Ricky said, in a flat voice. "But he's already got all the pitchers he wants."

They walked inside into the kitchen, where the aroma of Martha Kent's cooking was almost intoxicating. "Wow! That smells good!" Ricky said, hungrily. "Doesn't it, Harry?"

"It does," Harry agreed. He'd been smelling it ever since Lana and Martha had started dinner some time ago.

"Why don't you two join Clark in the living room?" Martha suggested. "We'll call you when dinner's ready."

Ricky looked at Harry. "That means, 'get out of here, we'll call you when we need you'," he said with a knowing grin.

"Richard Bradford!" Lana said sharply. "No more smart-mouth from you tonight! Now apologize to Mrs. Kent!"

Ricky had a mutinous look on his face, Harry thought, like he'd thought he was just being funny, not rude. But — "Sorry, Mrs. Kent," he mumbled.

Lana pointed to the living room. "Now _march_ — go sit down and behave!"

Her son turned and slouched out of the room. Harry, who'd watched Mrs. Weasley upbraid Fred, George and Ron, all of whom towered over her and all of whom shrank back when she glared at them, figured Ricky got off relatively easy for his thoughtless remark. "Uh, let us know if you need anything," said, moving toward the kitchen door as well.

"We will, dear," Martha said, and Harry retreated into the living room, where Clark was watching something on television. It had captured Ricky's attention, too, since he longer seemed upset or irritated by his mother's scolding.

On screen was a strange-looking aircraft, one Harry had never seen before. It looked like a double-decker bus, but Harry thought he must not be seeing it correctly, because the idea of Muggles flying such a thing seemed absurd. A moment later, however, the newscaster's voiceover cleared up his confusion.

"The space shuttle _Genesis_, slated for launch this coming Monday, has been delayed due to concerns with the shuttle release system on the craft's new experimental platform, a modified Boeing 777-200X capable of lifting the shuttle in a piggy-back configuration to an altitude of 40,000 feet, where it will be launched into Earth orbit for its first series of high-altitude experiments."

The image changed to two men standing behind a podium. "In a joint press conference this morning, NASA and Air Force officials took questions concerning the delay." The scene cut to a young woman with long, black hair, and Clark's breath caught for a moment. It was Lois.

"This flight is for 'experimental purposes,'" she said, glancing at the pad in her hand. "Are there any other reasons to continue these missions, given the overall budget shortfalls the country has experienced lately?"

The NASA official did not look pleased with her question. "Our overall plan is to develop efficient takeoff and insertion strategies for future shuttle launches. We are also looking at commercial applications —"

"_Commercial_ applications?" Lois interrupted, surprised. "You don't mean something like a 'space ride,' do you?"

"No, Miss Lane," the Air Force official interrupted. "We are looking toward having a civilian presence on future space station, for administrative and non-essential duties."

Lois looked ready to ask another question, but the Air Force official put up his hands. "That will be all for today, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your time."

Harry saw the look Clark was giving the woman who'd been asking questions. "Do you know her?" he asked.

"_Everybody_ knows Lois Lane!" Ricky interrupted. "She's a famous reporter that works for the Daily Planet, in Metropolis." He looked at Clark. "Mom says you were a reporter, too. Where did you work at, Mr. Kent?"

"I worked in Metropolis, too, Ricky," Clark said quietly, looking pensive.

Ricky's eyes lit up. "Did you ever meet Lois Lane?" he asked, eagerly.

"A few times," Clark nodded. The look on his face was telling Harry that there was something more to the two of them than the casual answers Clark was giving Ricky.

"Supper's ready!" Martha called, from the kitchen. "Come and get it!"

Ricky ran into the kitchen but Lana's voice commanded, "Wash your hands first," and he turned and ran into the bathroom.

Harry walked over to the door of the bathroom, to wait for Ricky to finish washing his hands so he could wash his as well. "Coming, Clark?" he asked, as Clark continued to stare at the television screen, seemingly lost in thought.

Clark looked up. "Yes, in a minute," he said, "I have to make a phone call first."

=ooo=

Lois slid out of the taxi, handed the driver her fare, then stalked into the _Daily Planet_ building, her mood foul and worsening by the moment. She had flown to Houston, prepared to make the shuttle flight, write the story and drop it on Perry White's desk, to get herself out from underneath it and on to more important issues — which at this moment was _anything-not-to-do-with-the-space-shuttle_.

She considered taking the elevator all the way to the roof, to have a cigarette and calm herself, but decided against it. She could have a smoke on her way home. The two smokes she'd had in the cab on the way over from the airport had only intensified her craving for another one. And, unless Richard was working overtime and she could get Jason down for a nap when she got home, she wouldn't be able to sneak a smoke at home. Well, she could relax a bit before Monday — or at least, her approximation of "relax."

Getting off on the newsroom floor, she glanced at Perry's office, knowing he'd be here, even on the weekend. Like her, he'd wanted the shuttle story finished in time for the Sunday edition, and he would ride the weekend editors until they made sure everything was a go.

Of course, there actually had to be a _story_ before it could be printed in the paper.

Perry was talking to someone in his office, Lois saw; stacks of boxes full of folders prevented her from seeing who it was. She walked over to her desk, dropped her carryon bag and purse onto it and sat down for a moment to collect her thoughts before going into Perry's office to vent. Why did those idiots in Houston have to keep second-guessing everything? For the past two weeks they'd dithered on the launch date, threatening to scrub the mission a half-dozen times over various "issues" that were resolved almost as soon as they were announced. Now this problem with the shuttle couplings, which Lois was beginning to think was a mere ploy to stretch out the anticipation over this new "piggyback" launch method.

Lois rubbed her eyes tiredly. The craving for a cigarette was intensifying, what with waiting for Perry, frustration over the story, and sheer fatigue. She looked around her desk for a moment, trying to find something else to do, but the call of nicotine was getting too strong to ignore. She opened her purse, grabbing the small bag containing her pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and stood up to head for the roof, only to see Perry look at her, then wave her into his office. She put the smokes back into her purse, dropped the purse into a drawer in her desk, and went into his office.

The person he'd been talking to was still there; unfortunately, it was Cat Grant. Lois nodded curtly to her, and she smiled back. "Good to see you again, Lois," Cat said. "How was your trip?" Lois could hear the mocking tone in her voice.

"Just great," Lois replied. "I sat next to Lex Luthor on the flight back. He told me his latest scheme — he plans to raise an island in the Gulf of Mexico, then drill down to the oil reserves under it. He's in Metropolis now, looking for venture capital." Grant, who wrote the gossip column for the _Planet_, would sometimes include Luthor rumors in her column during slow periods. Luthor had disappeared after being released from jail three years ago, after Superman failed to appear at his trial to testify — just one in the series of unfortunate events over the past five years that had led Lois to write her editorial, "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman," last year, a piece that had ironically won her a Pulitzer Prize.

"Settle down, Lois," White cautioned her. "I know you're upset, but —"

"Damn right I'm upset!" Lois agreed, cutting him off. "These morons are talking themselves out of a story! They're already wasting billions of dollars trying to keep _Mir_ operational — the Russians would have shut it down by now if we weren't pumping money into it — and there are rumblings of NASA participating in an international effort to build another one! There are a lot better uses for that money than wasting it on space!"

Perry had let her speak, but he shook his head. "We're not here to make the news, Lois — we report on it. You can disagree with what NASA is doing, but I don't want that clouding the facts of your story. Got it?"

Lois nodded unhappily. She looked at Cat. "And how's _your_ story going, Grant?" she asked, sounding interested, though both women knew that was a façade.

"Jimmy and I are still looking for Gertrude Vanderworth's husband," she replied. "It's been — interesting." In fact, the entire piece was becoming a gigantic white elephant to Grant, who was used to turning over stories in a matter of days, if not hours, the nature of gossip being what it was. "I've been starting to wonder if the whole story was a fabrication by someone in the Vanderworth family, to defraud the other members of their family fortune, because neither Jimmy nor I can find any information on her supposed 'husband.'" Grant looked at Perry. "That's what I was telling Mr. White — I think we're chasing a red herring."

"What, the great Cat Grant, ready to give up on a story?" Lois asked, with mock concern. The phone on White's desk rang, and he answered it.

"That's ironic, coming from you, Lois," Cat shot back. "You sound ready to give up on the shuttle story — one of NASA's biggest achievements in the past decade — because of a simple delay."

"I'm not giving up on anything," Lois told her, stubbornly. "I just don't like seeing so much money wasted on things that aren't going to matter in the next century, rather than on helping the country heal and grow."

"That sounds very noble," Cat sneered. "But a lot of our scientific advances are made in the space program, and the experiments that are taking place on _Mir_ are increasing our knowledge in chemistry, biology, physics — you name it. I think you're being short-sighted."

"Short-sighted?" Lois looked amused. "This from the woman who spends most of her time chasing down Bruce Wayne's latest date for fashion tips."

White hung up the phone. "Alright, you two, cut it out," he said. He gave both of them an odd look. "You're not going to believe who I just spoke to," he said.

"Lex Luthor?" Cat smiled, "wanting to give an exclusive interview to Lois?"

"Bruce Wayne?" Lois smirked, "with his date plans for next Friday night?"

"Clark Kent," Perry told them. "He's back from his sabbatical, or whatever it was he was doing. He wanted to know if I needed a reporter."

"What did you tell him?" Cat asked.

White shrugged. "At the moment we're at full capacity, staff-wise. I told him I didn't know when something would open up. He's staying at his mother's house in Kansas — asked me to give him a call if anything opened up."

"Hmm, Clark Kent back at the _Planet_," Cat mused, looking at Lois. "It will seem like old times, won't it?"

"Not unless Superman shows up again," Lois retorted. "And that seems pretty unlikely, since nobody's heard from him for five years now."

"True," Cat said, heading toward the door to Perry's office. "Even so, I guess things are pretty different now, aren't they, Lois?" She looked at White. "I'll stay on the Vanderworth story, Chief — let you know what I come up with in a day or so." She walked out.

"Hang in there with the shuttle story, Lois," Perry told her, after Cat had closed the door. "They'll get the bugs worked out this time, I'm sure."

"I hope so, Chief," Lois said, turning toward the door as well. "I'm getting to know the Metropolis to Houston flight crews on a first-name basis."

"Lois." She turned around to face Perry. "What do you think about bringing Clark Kent back to the _Planet_?"

Lois made a gesture that may have been a shrug, or a sigh. "He's a decemt reporter. Spells pretty good, too. But as you said, we're at full staff right now."

"Yeah," White said, looking at her closely. "So you wouldn't have a problem, if he came back?"

"Why would I have a problem with Kent?" Lois looked surprised at the question.

Perry shrugged. "Just asking." I seem to remember you acting a little…well, weird, together after that assignment in Niagara Falls, the honeymoon scam story, when the General Zod crisis took place."

"Oh, _that_," Lois made a dismissive gesture. "That was — that was nothing, Chief. Kent and I were more concerned about Zod and the other Kryptonians than were about…about, well, whatever happened at that resort." She looked puzzled for a moment. "You know, I don't even recall what we did when we heard about Zod taking over the White House and demanding that Superman kneel before him to save the Earth."

"Well, never mind," Perry said. "That's old news, now. Let's get the shuttle launch out of the way as well — then I've got a few more stories I'll want you to cover."

"Good," Lois said, and went to have that cigarette.

=ooo=

"Would you like another piece of apple pie, Harry?"

"Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Kent," Harry shook his head, putting a hand on his stomach. "I couldn't eat another bite. That was a great dinner!"

"I'm glad you liked it," Martha Kent smiled. "But you'll have to thank Lana for that pie — she made it as we were preparing dinner earlier."

Harry smiled at Lana. "Thank you, Mrs. Lang," he said. "It was really good."

"It's just _Miss_ Lang, Harry," Lana smiled, then looked at Clark. "Did you enjoy your dinner, too, Clark?"

Clark wiped off his mouth with a napkin, beginning to speak but quickly swallowing first. "Excuse me — yes, it was excellent, Lana. Thank you. And thank you too, Mom," he smiled at his mother as well.

"I'm just so happy to have you home again, Clark," Martha said, putting her arm on Clark's.

"I second that," Lana added, smiling at Clark. Harry glanced at Ricky, who looked at him then rolled his eyes. Harry grinned at him.

"So, Harry," Lana gave him an inquisitive look. "How long have you been here?"

Harry, who hadn't been expecting the question, replied without thinking. "Oh, just since this afternoon."

Lana chuckled. "No, I meant, in the United States. What places have you visited?"

"Oh. Well —" Harry glanced at Clark. "This — this was actually my first place to visit," he said. "I thought I'd come see Clark first, then figure out where to go from there."

"Have you seen Stonehenge?" Ricky, who'd been eating his slice of apple pie a bit at a time, suddenly asked. "I was reading about it the other day."

"Er —" Harry had never really thought about Stonehenge, much less visited it. "Well, I've heard about it —"

Ricky looked frustrated. "_Really_? Geez, Harry, do you even _live_ in England?"

"Ricky!" Lana admonished him. "You don't need to get upset just because Harry's never been to Stonehenge! Look at me," she pointed out. "I've lived in Kansas for years and I've never been to see the castle at the top of Coronado Heights, or down to see the largest hand-dug well, in Greensburg, or even over to see the ball of twine in Cawker City."

Harry could tell she was trying to make a point with her son, but some of the places of interest she named were…unusual. "A ball of twine?" he repeated, looking confused.

"Well, yes," Lana said, looking a bit defensive. "It's only about an hour west of here." When Harry continued to look confused, she explained, "It's a really _big_ ball of twine — it's over eleven feet in diameter."

"Maybe we should go see it tomorrow!" Ricky said, excitedly. "We can take Harry!"

"Well, I won't be here tomorrow," Harry said. "I'll be ba— er, I'll be gone tomorrow."

"Oh, that's too bad," Lana said, sounding relieved. "Where are you —" she was interrupted by a _splatting_ sound behind them—the extra apple pie Lana had baked had someone fallen to the floor.

"Oh, _drat_!" Martha said, upset. "I was going to send that home with you and Ricky, Lana! I must've left it too close to the edge of the counter!" Harry glanced at Ricky, who was frowning and not looking at anyone. He could have sworn he'd seen, in the corner of his eye, the pie _flip over_ and fall to the floor.

"Clark, why don't you and Harry go in the living room and relax a while," Martha suggested. "Lana and I will clean up in here."

"You stay, Ricky," his mother told him. "You can help with the dishes tonight."

"Oh, Mom!" Ricky looked mutinous again. "Can't I go talk to Harry and Mr. Kent, too?"

"After the dishes are done," she said, firmly. "But I'll tell you what," she added, as Ricky made a face and began furiously clearing the table. "Help with the dishes tonight and I'll let you wait 'til Monday to do your chores."

"Okay," Ricky agreed, settling down and stacking the dishes more carefully.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself here today, Harry," Clark said quietly, as they sat down in the living room.

"Oh, yeah," Harry agreed. "I really did. Thanks for inviting me."

"Well, honestly," Clark admitted. "There was a little selfishness on my part." He lowered his voice to the point where Harry's enhanced hearing was needed to understand what he was saying. "I was afraid my mother had some idea about Lana and me getting together."

"And you didn't want that?" Harry replied. He remembered seeing Clark's expression when he was watching that woman reporter, Lois Lane. "Is it because of that woman on the telly?" he asked.

"Lois?" Clark said, surprised Harry had noticed he'd been watching her. "Well — it's complicated."

"That phone call you made earlier," Harry said. "You asked your old boss for a job back in Metropolis." Harry pointed at his ear. "Super-hearing. I thought maybe it had something to do with her." He hung his head. "Sorry. I shouldn't have eavesdropped."

"No, it's alright," Clark said, distracted. "I didn't realize it was that obvious. Lois and I went through a lot together a few years ago, before I went to find Krypton. I guess I didn't realize how much I missed her until I saw her again today."

"So, are you going back to work there?" Harry wanted to know. He didn't know what this was going to do with his plans for him and Clark to visit Hogwarts in August.

"Not right now," Clark said. "There's no job opening for me at the Planet. I don't know if I want to work anywhere else, though." He looked at Harry. "For now, we'll stick to our plan, to go talk to your headmaster after you turn sixteen."

Harry nodded, relieved. He needed to spend more time with Clark, to get a better understanding of how his new powers worked, just as Clark would need to understand how his magical abilities worked. And speaking of magical ability…

"There's something you should know about Ricky," Harry told Clark, who looked suddenly concerned as well. "I think he's got magical abilities."

Clark looked stunned. "What makes you think that?"

Harry related the incident with the baseball and Ricky's uncanny ability to make it move however he wanted. "There was also that thing with the apple pie, when he got upset earlier. That pie didn't fall — it practically leaped off the counter!"

"What happens if Ricky _does_ have magical powers?" Clark asked.

"Well, at home," Harry explained. "The summer after we turn eleven we get a letter from Hogwarts saying we can attend if we choose to. But I don't know what happens here in America."

"Do you think Lana knows?" Clark asked, glancing at her through the kitchen wall with his X-ray vision. She and Ricky were smiling and laughing as they did the dishes together.

"I don't know," Harry shook his head. "She's his mum, she's probably noticed if anything strange has been happening around him at home."

"I'll ask Mom if she's mentioned anything to her," Clark said. "If Ricky _is_ a wizard, his life is going to change drastically, isn't it?"

"Based on what _I've_ been through in the past few years," Harry said, knowingly. "I'd say 'Yes'."

=ooo=

The _Gertrude_ dropped anchor about 100 yards from the frozen ice shelf off the northwest coast of Antarctica, well away from any of the international expeditions stationed around Weddell Sea. Stanford had located crystalline readings matching the ones Luthor had discovered in the arctic region several years earlier; they would be running snowmobiles toward the coordinates, until the terrain made it impossible to continue, then on foot the rest of the distance.

It was not going to be an easy trek, Luthor knew. Antarctica was the coldest place on Earth; the coldest temperature recorded there was 128 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Near the coastline it was warmer, but still well below zero. According to Stanford's estimates (with which Luthor concurred), they were about four days away from the Fortress using snowmobiles for eight hours a day; with any luck, even in the relatively mountainous terrain, they would be able to get fairly close.

"Is this trip really necessary?" Kitty asked plaintively, watching the men set up base camp well inland on the ice shelf, using a ridge formation to protect them from the winds. They all had on extra-thermal clothing as well as their parkas and heavy leggings, boots and gloves —every part of their bodies that wasn't exposed was being kept warm by special layers in the clothing that retained most of their body heat.

"Yes, it is," Luthor said, a small smile cracking his face at his girlfriend's unintentional humor. "We're looking for technology that will make anything mankind has achieved — computers, atomic power, space flight — look like stone knives and bearskins."

"That's great, Lex," Kitty replied, giving him a cynical look. "But I don't expect you'll want to share any of that technology with mankind."

"_Au contraire, mon cher_," Luthor corrected her. "I plan to make this technology available to everyone — for the right price."

As soon as base camp was established and the men had rested for a while, Luthor was ready to begin the expedition. "The soon we find what we're here for," he told the others, "the sooner we'll be back on the ship, nice and warm." No one argued with that logic.

Instead of using GPS, which would be nearly useless at these latitudes (as most non-military units could not stand the extreme cold), they were using a portable locator cobbled together by Luthor and Stanford, a device that would track the unique crystalline readings of Superman's Fortress. Three snowmobiles set off, each with two occupants and each with a sled carrying food, gasoline and other supplies Luthor had requested.

The terrain was uneven but still navigable by the snowmobiles. The convoy had to wind its way around various outcroppings of rock and ice, and had to double back once because a crevasse made going any further impossible. But they continued, with Stanford directing them with his locator, until they came to an outcropping of rock that made further travel by snowmobile impossible.

"We're lucky," Stanford said, through chattering teeth. "It's only about a quarter mile further, beyond these rocks. We should be able to make that on foot in an hour or so, assuming we have to cover terrain like that." He pointed to the rocks ahead of them.

"Let's get going, people," Luthor, who could practically feel those crystals in his hands, commanded. "Bring all of the equipment — one way or another, we're bringing back some of that crystal."

Luthor's henchmen broke out the equipment he'd ordered — electronic equipment for examining the crystals, along with a small portable generator, an acetylene cutter and welding equipment, a small first aid kit, food and water supplies, along with a heater for thawing it out (it was well below freezing), and ropes and other climbing and digging implements, in case they had to scale up or down cliffs.

"Maybe I should have stayed on the ship," Kitty looked rather daunted by all of the equipment they were bringing with them.

"No, you wouldn't want to miss this," Luthor told her. "This is history in the making."

They made their way slowly over the rocky, frozen ridge, step by arduous step, Luthor and Stanford conferring over the readings of the locator, getting closer and closer to the source of the readings. They were fortunate in that some recent disturbances had caused some rockfalls, opening up a small, circuitous path through the rock.

Luthor pointed out a rock formation to Stanford — it had a definite crystalline quality to it: long and smooth rather than rough, like normal rock. They stepped through the last part of the ridge, and even Luthor had to gasp at what lay before them, glowing with an eerie bluish light in the long night of the Antarctic.

The Fortress of Solitude, Superman's headquarters.

"I knew it, I knew it," Luthor cackled, looking around at the tall, interlocking spires of rocklike crystals, or crystal-like rocks — it didn't matter what it was, only that they were here! Leading the way, Luthor led them into the glowing structure, looking at the strange, star-shaped object that was resting on the rocky ice, just outside the entrance. Above, he could see an open hatch. It was evidently a vessel of some kind.

"Two of you check that out," Luthor told his men. "See what's inside — but don't touch _anything_ until you clear it with me, you hear?" They nodded and two of them broke off to find a way inside the object. Luthor and the others went inside the Fortress.

The Fortress was magnificent. It was a vast cavern of interlocking levels, stretching perhaps a mile or more in length. Kitty was looking around apprehensively. "Shouldn't there be a burglar alarm, or something?" she asked. She gave Luthor a knowing look. "You know, to keep out the riff-raff and crooks?"

Luthor merely grinned, refusing to be baited. "I think he figured putting out here, in this godforsaken wilderness, would be all the security he'd need. Most people wouldn't even think of looking for something like this in the first place." Luthor tapped the side of his parka hood with a gloved hand. "I, on the other hand, the greatest criminal genius of the twentieth century…"

"Is this his home?" Riley, who'd been relegated the task of videotaping Luthor's entrance into the Fortress, asked as he panned the camera around.

Luthor looked back at him, amused. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? Most people would. But no — this is more of a monument of dead and extremely powerful world." He'd found what he was looking for — an outcropping of crystalline rock that seemed to be composed of hundreds of cylindrical shards.

"This is where he found out who he was," Luthor continued, approaching the edge of the outcropping. "This is where he came for guidance."

"Guidance?" Kitty echoed. "From _who_?"

"You'll see," Luthor murmured. "The possibilities here are endless…"

He held out his hands, wondering if he could induce some reaction from the crystals before him. The crystals began to glow. Luthor smiled.

As Kitty and the others watched, awestruck, the crystals began to _move_, to form a structure in front of Luthor. Within a few moments a hemispherical console rose up from the outcropping edge. A dozen or so of these crystals, Luthor noted, were pointed. He slid one free of the console, examining it for a moment. Behind him, Kitty remarked. "You act like you've been here before."

Luthor said nothing, but replaced the crystal in the console. There was a shimmer of sound as the console, along with many of the crystal spires around them began to glow with an inner light. Kitty, Riley and Stanford were looking around apprehensively, but Luthor was waiting for…something else to appear.

An image formed on a crystalline column before them, across the expanse of the Fortress. A handsome, white-haired man who seemed to look at them with recognition. "My son," the image said. "You do not remember me. I am Jor-El. I am your father."

"Bingo," Luthor whispered. "He thinks I'm his son…"

"By now, I will have been dead many thousands of your years —" The voice cut off as Luthor removed the crystal he'd placed in the console.

"Come on," Luthor said. "I want to see what's in that star-shaped object outside." He led the way back outside, walking up to the artifact, which now had a pair of ropes dangling from the open hatch. "What have you found?" he called up.

Brutus came to the hatch. "Looks like a ship of some type, Boss," he said. "There's something that looks like a cockpit. And there's a couple of other things in here as well — we can't figure 'em out."

"Can you show them to me?" Luthor asked.

Brutus disappeared for a second. He returned with a broom. "The other thing's a ball of metal of some type — it's too heavy to lift."

"What would Superman need with a broom?" Luthor wondered, looking up at it.

"Maybe he likes a tidy ship," Kitty suggested.

Luthor gave her a look before gesturing for Brutus to throw it down. Brutus held it out and let it drop the ten feet or so, into Luthor's hands. "Bring that ball down with you as well," he told Brutus as he studied the broom carefully.

"But it's too heavy to —"

"I'm not interested in excuses," Luthor said. "I want to see results."

"Fine," Brutus snarled, and disappeared.

Luthor walked away a few feet from beneath the hatch, still looking at the broom. "That's a strange looking broom," Kitty offered. "Why's it bent that way? And what are these things for?" She pointed to the two metal prongs affixed to the side of the broom, just above the bristles. The bristles themselves did not look very useful for sweeping.

"Some interesting facts about this broom," Luthor pointed out the smooth finish. "Notice how highly polished the shaft is? This is also interesting." He pointed to the top of the shaft, which was flattened and had the word "Firebolt" engraved along the side, in golden letters. Beneath that was the number 0127FB. "Why would someone name a broom "Firebolt" or put a serial number on it?

"Maybe it's not really a broom?" Kitty said. Luthor looked at her, surprised by her insight.

"Good point," he said. "I wonder if —"

"_Look out_!" someone above them shouted. They spun back toward the crystalline craft just as a loud crash seemed to shake the ground beneath them. Luthor sighed. Brutus and Grant had gotten the metal ball down from the ship, all right — they'd dropped it to the ground, where it was now embedded several inches into the ice.

Luthor looked up at Brutus, who was looking down at the ball from the hatch of the ship. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked, his voice heavy with irony. "You and Grant both get down here."

When the two men had descended from the ship, Luthor gestured for them to look at the metal ball. "What would you say this metal is?" he asked.

Brutus looked at it for several seconds, then back at Luthor, shrugging. "I dunno," he said. "Iron? It was pretty freakin' heavy, whatever it is."

"From the dull, grayish color," Luthor pointed out, "I'd say it was lead. Probably pure lead — I'm surprised it didn't break apart when it hit the ice." He took a small tape measure out of a pocket on his parka and wrapped it around the edge of the ball. "Let's see," he said, examining the tape. "It's 57 inches around, so about 18 inches in diameter." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "This ball weighs over 1200 pounds, give or take," he finally said. "And considering that it's lead, and was on a ship that probably brought Superman here from wherever he was…" Luthor turned to Brutus. "I want you to cut it open."

"Cut it open?" Brutus looked baffled. "It's just a ball of lead, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Luthor agreed. "But maybe there's something inside it, something Superman wanted to protect himself from with lead. If that's so, then I want what's inside there." He jerked a gloved thumb at the lead ball. "Get to work."

Luthor watched as his men brought the acetylene torch over and began cutting the top of the ball away. "Be careful!" he warned them. "Don't let it sink any further into the ice!"

Eventually the top was removed, and Brutus began removing sections of the interior, until at last they saw a fragment of green, glowing crystal, embedded in the center of the ball. Luthor looked down into the hollowed center, a smile playing across his lips.

"Jackpot," he said.

He turned and strode back into the Fortress interior, back to the console that had risen from the edge of the outcropping; Kitty and the others followed him, curious. Luthor replaced the crystal he'd taken from the console, listening as the project of Superman's father, Jor-El, spoke to him once again.

"So, my son," the image said at last. "Kal-El. What do you wish to know? Speak."

Luthor looked at the projection of the Man of Steel's father, the man who gave life to his most hated enemy. "Tell me _everything_, starting with the crystals."

**Author's Notes: Some responses to recent review questions:**

**Chapter 2:**

**Q: Hey, won't Harry's new powers give him a growth spurt? Just speculating here.**  
A: They probably won't, they don't seem to have affected Clark that way as his powers matured.

**Chapter 3:**

**Q: How did Martha know who Clark is? His identity is under Fidelus right? So she should forget it ...**  
A: I think the Fidelius keeps someone from _learning_ something unless told by the Secret Keeper. Martha had already known for years that Clark was Superman. This is different from the Fidelius about Grimmauld Place, because before the Fidelius Sirius's house was NOT originally the Order of the Phoenix HQ, so it was something that everyone would have to learn of, somehow, not something they already knew. It's possible that Narcissa or Bellatrix could have entered number 12 Grimmauld Place without knowing it was the OOP HQ. They probably stayed away for different reasons — Bellatrix may have felt that someone (Dumbledore, Sirius, etc.) would have spells on the house to warn them of her entering it, and she would be foolish to put herself in such a vulnerable position. Narcissa stayed away most likely because she was happy to be shot of that house and her parents, and she'd married into a pretty powerful family, the Malfoys.

**Q: If Superman's powers are infinite, then how can he measure himself? Theoretically he should be able to keep that disc up for days on end ... and if he is now at 75% of his original strength, then it still shouldn't matter ... cause 3/4th of infinity is still the same ...  
**A: Superman's powers aren't infinite, otherwise he'd be a pretty boring character, since nothing could stop him. Harry only has half his strength, but it's an open question whether he would get stronger as he matured, especially if he worked to build up his muscles. That's a tricky thing in itself, since it's uncertain whether a super-powered Kryptonian can build up his strength and musculature. I think it's implied in the comics and movies that Clark's muscles developed as he matured, though that's never stated. He was shown in the original Superman movie to be capable of lifting the Kent's truck even as a toddler right out of the spacecraft.

In _HP Returns_, it seems like the blending of Clark's and Harry's respective powers have a multiplying effect upon one another — even though their respective abilities probably split 50/50 when the lightning struck them, their power levels weren't simply halved. In the TV series _Smallville_, Clark has "shared" his power more than once with other humans. In those cases the human affected became about as strong as Clark, but neither of them had any special powers of their own (even though Lana did some witchcraft in one of the 4th season episodes, it wasn't an innate ability).

**Chapter 4:**

**Q: On a side note; won't Harry be confused about the measurement of temperature? Since they do use degrees Centigrade in Britain ...**  
A: But did the Wizarding world adopt the Centigrade measurement? After all, they're still using their own money system. I can't seem to recall a reference to either Fahrenheit or Centigrade measurements. Rowling must have been careful to avoid that confusion between the U.S. and Britain/Europe.

**Q: And the Leakey Cauldron is a pub, not a bar ... from what I understand, a pub is where you can get meals and accommodation as well as drinks ... while a bar is that part of a pub where you can sit and drink… And they do let kids in a pub at daytime ...  
**A: I was careful to have Harry call it a pub, while Clark called it a bar. Clark probably doesn't frequent bars often, since he can't really get drunk (the scene in Superman III notwithstanding, since he wasn't so much drunk there as depressed/pissed off due to artificial Kryptonite poisoning). Clark was surprised (a bit of American/Midwest parochialism) that a kid like Harry could walk into a bar and have no one think anything about it. But remember, Clark is still a bit of a boy scout, and some of that is probably the result of Superman's "truth and justice" attitude. I suppose the only distinction is that Superman never lies (he says), whereas Clark does bend the truth in order to protect his secret identity as Superman.

**Other offline comments:**

**Q: Well, truth be told, that trace thing is a bit of a controversy ... if the trace was on the person, then why was Harry only charged only with casting the Patronus when he had managed a wandless (or remote-wanded) Lumos?  
**A: I usually consider that the _Lumos_ spell didn't quite "ring the bell" as far as notifying the Ministry, since Harry wasn't holding the wand when he caused it to light up. It's generally accepted in fandom that wandless magic doesn't activate the Trace. This situation is tricky, since Harry was close to his wand, though not touching it. Since Fudge didn't bring it up in the charges, and the letter from the Ministry expelling Harry didn't mention it, I can speculate that they didn't know about it.

**Q: and also if the trace was on the person, how did Tommy manage to kill his dad and grandparents using his uncle's wand finally incriminating Morfin? The Trace should have registered him as the caster ..  
**A: Because it took place in the summer of 1944 ("fifty years ago," according to chapter one of GOF, which begins in the summer of 1994), and Tom Riddle was born on 31 December 1926. He would have turned 17 on 31 December 1943, so in the summer of 1944 he was no longer under the Trace, assuming it was placed on underage children back then. At least Jo was careful with that detail!

**Thanks for your reviews and questions about the story!**


	6. The Magic Birthday

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Six  
****The Magic Birthday**

_Updated 24 July 2010_

**Author's Note: Warning, this is a long chapter, almost 20,000 words! A few questions were asked in PM's which I responded to the same way; this chapter is so long that I'll forego the Q&A session afterwards. Perhaps this chapter will generate some more.**

Sleeping did not come easily to Harry anymore.

It had been hard enough in past years, when he would dream about Voldemort killing his mother and father; or worse, his friends. He would awaken, his scar wracking him with pain, until Voldemort either became calmer or Harry would pass out from the pain. He awakened some mornings drenched with sweat.

Now things were different, but he _still_ couldn't sleep. He never felt tired or sleepy anymore! He would lay in bed, imagining how he'd feel if he could be up in the sky, soaring along with birds, or even higher, where planes could see him unless he was careful to stay out of view, hidden in banks of clouds. If Harry thought he could get away with it, he'd be out right now, flying above the clouds, higher than any aircraft. He wished that was where he was.

But now that was impossible. Just trying to pass through any window or door in the Burrow without first saying the proper password would set off alarms heard everywhere inside the house. And neither Harry nor any of the Weasley children, not even Hermione, knew what the password was.

It had all happened just over two weeks ago, during his last visit to Smallville — his last visit _anywhere_, really. After supper at the Kent farm, Ricky and Harry (mostly Ricky) had cajoled Clark into watching a movie with them on TV— _Animal House_, which Ricky claimed was hilariously funny. It was about some dozy American college students who got into trouble because of some rather strange behavior at their fraternity. Harry found it amusing, but a bit bewildering. It had seemed rather old-fashioned until Clark explained that it was supposed to be 1962 in the movie.

When Harry saw what was coming on afterwards, though, he knew he had to see it: _Dragonslayer_. He had never heard of such a movie before, but he'd spent little time in front of a television even before he learned he was a wizard. It was fascinating to see the ideas Muggles had about magic — a decrepit old wizard teaching bits and pieces of magical information to his young apprentice; a far-away threat from a dragon that was ravaging a kingdom, and a king too corrupt and spineless to challenge it, who would rather let the young women in his kingdom be thrown to slaughter. Harry could identify with the young hero — he was fighting against seemingly insurmountable odds, with little help from others. The only unbelievable part of the movie was when the old wizard came back from the dead (briefly) to help his young apprentice. Well, not so unbelievable, Harry had corrected himself, remembering that Voldemort seemed to have done exactly the same thing.

Then came the problem. It was two A.M. when the movie finished, and Harry had completely forgotten that the Burrow was six hours ahead of them! Ricky had gone to sleep shortly after the movie began (kids!) and Clark carried him out to Lana's car; Harry didn't remember when he came back into the room, but he sat down on the couch and promptly went to sleep himself. Harry wondered how he could do that — Clark never got tired or sleepy either, he'd said so himself — _how_ could he just fall asleep like that?

Harry tapped Clark on the shoulder. "Clark? Clark! Wake up."

Clark slowly opened his eyes. He glanced at the telly. "Is it over?"

"Yeah," Harry said hurriedly. He stood. "I've gotta go — I just realized how late it is."

Clark glanced at his watch. "Will you be okay?" he asked. "It's eight A.M. back in England. Do you think they'll notice you're gone?"

"I hope not," Harry said. "With any luck I'll get there before." He smiled at Clark. "Thanks for inviting me over, it was interesting meeting your friend Lana and her son."

Clark nodded, smiling as well. "I'll let you know what happens with Ricky and his powers. Oh, by the way," he added, as Harry turned toward the door. "You're invited to Ricky's birthday party. His birthday is August 12, but the party is being held the second Saturday of August at their house in Smallville. I told Lana you might not be able to attend —"

"I'll be there," Harry told him. "I just wish you could come to my birthday—it's in two weeks."

"I wish I could, too," Clark said, seriously. "But it would look a bit strange, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose," Harry said, disappointed. "Okay, I gotta go," he said, striding to the front door and walking outside. He lifted off slowly from the front porch, gaining altitude until he was a dozen feet in the air, then flashed upward.

There wasn't time to waste. Harry angled almost straight up, flying until he'd cleared most of the atmosphere, then poured on speed until he was over Britain, only a matter of seconds later. It was amazing how fast he could go, now that he was used to flying! He had covered several thousand miles in the span of four or five seconds! Now above Great Britain, he angled downward and dove toward the Earth, beginning to feel the atmosphere around him about seven miles up. He still dove at hypersonic speed, trying to get closer before reducing his speed to subsonic so his flight into his bedroom would go unnoticed.

But five miles up, Harry suddenly came to a halt, his super-acute vision peering through the roof and upper rooms of the Burrow into his bedroom on the second floor. There were already several people in the room, he saw — Ron and Hermione and Ginny, along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. _Bugger_, he thought. _I didn't make it back in time_! Dropping down to within a mile overhead, Harry tuned in with his super-hearing to find out what was going on.

"— don't know where he could be, Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione was saying, fretfully. "I haven't seen him since dinner on Saturday!"

"Well he's got to be SOMEWHERE about!" Mrs. Weasley all but shouted. Harry wondered why he'd seen Ron wince — then he heard Mrs. Weasley. It was weird watching everyone's mouth moving several seconds before he heard what they said. Sound travels much slower than light did. "He couldn't have been — been taken, could he, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No, the spells Dumbledore put on the Burrow would have alerted us if any Dark presence tried to enter." He looked around Harry's room. "I hate to ask this, but — where's his Firebolt?"

Harry groaned. _His Firebolt_! He'd barely thought about it in the past few weeks, ever since he'd used it to fly after the "meteor" that had been Clark's spaceship! His super-memory now led him to recall its location: Clark had brought it inside his spacecraft as they'd left Surrey for the Fortress of Solitude, in Antarctica. He focused his attention back to his room as Ron suddenly dropped to the floor.

"He usually keeps it under his bed," Harry heard Ron say a few seconds later, followed by the thump of him getting down and looking under the bed. He came up shaking his head. "Huh! It's not there!" Ron looked at Ginny and said something. She shrugged and ran from the room, followed by her parents, then Ron and Hermione. His next sentence finally reached Harry.

"Do you suppose he put it in our broom shed?" Ron had asked. Harry's gaze shifted immediately to the broom shed, where he and Dumbledore had had a short but interesting conversation just over a day ago. A brain wave seized him, and he shot toward it at just under sonic speed. At this velocity it would be just a bit over five seconds before he reached the broom shed — that should be more than enough time…

Moving at over a thousand feet per second, Harry reached the shed just as the kitchen door began to open. He opened the shed door (careful not to rip it from its hinges!) and slipped inside, letting his flying power halt his speed. He sat down on the stone bench and slumped against the wall, making it appear as if he'd been asleep. Almost as soon as he got settled the door was jerked open again and an ear-splitting shriek rent the air. Both Ginny and Hermione turned, staring at Ron, who was looking into the shed with an expression of horror on his face.

"What?" he said, glaring at the pair of them. "There was a big spider on Harry's arm!" He was pushed out of the way as Mrs. Weasley thrust herself between Hermione and her daughter, her finger pointing accusingly at Harry.

"And just where do you think _you_ were supposed to be, young man?" she asked crossly. "We were worried sick about you!"

Harry blinked, shielding his eyes from the sun. "W-what?" he muttered blearily, acting as if he'd just awakened. "What's wrong?"

Mr. Weasley had joined them, looking over his wife's shoulder. "Ah, there you are, Harry!" he said cheerfully, though it sounded a bit forced. "We were beginning to wonder where you'd got off to."

"_Wonder_?" Mrs. Weasley glared at her husband, who shrank back reflexively. She then rounded on Harry again. "What in Merlin's name are you _doing_ out here, Harry — in this filthy old broom shed, of all places?"

Harry rubbed his eyes, feigning sleepiness to buy time to think. "Well, I — er, I wasn't sleeping too well last night," he began. "I came outside and was walking around for a bit when I realized I couldn't remember where my broom was."

"Huh?" Ron gasped. "So you mean it _is_ gone?" But Hermione was giving him a confused look.

"Harry," she said. "Your door was still locked when we tried to get into the room. How could you have gotten out?"

"Oh — er, I guess I — er, must've locked it again, without thinking," Harry muttered, lamely.

"Well, at least you didn't lose your wand, then," Mr. Weasley said, with just a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

The humor was lost on his wife, who glared at him again for a moment, then whirled back to face Harry. "Don't you realize how _dangerous_ is it for you now, Harry? We've got all sorts of spells on the Burrow to keep you safe, and you go wandering off in the middle of the night! _Tsk_! I can't say I'm very happy with you at this moment. And _you_!" She spun around, pointing a finger at Ron.

"Me?" Ron said, looking completely nonplussed. "I didn't do anything!"

"Well _that's_ the problem, Ron!" his mother complained, wagging a finger in his face. "You're supposed to be looking out for Harry!"

"Mum, that's ridiculous," Ron said at once. "Harry's pulled _me_ out of more dangerous situations all the time!"

"Well, you shouldn't be getting _into_ those situations now, should you?" Mrs. Weasley shot back, testily. She folded her arms across her chest, looking adamant. "This can't go on anymore — we're not going to let you wander off and get yourself into trouble, Harry," she told him. "And that goes for the rest of you as well!" she added, glaring at Ron and Ginny. "You're all confined to the house for the rest of the summer!" She looked at Hermione apologetically. "I'm sorry, dear, but that applies to you as well."

Ron's mouth dropped open, and Ginny looked outraged. "Mum, that's so _unfair_!" Ginny announced immediately. "Hermione and I didn't do _anything_!"

"It can't be helped," Mrs. Weasley said, becoming stern once again. "Arthur, tell them." When Mr. Weasley didn't respond right away, she shot him an impatient look.

Looking rather more reluctant than his wife, Mr. Weasley said, "I've contacted Remus — he'll be here shortly, to help us put up a spell on all the doors and windows of the Burrow. You'll have to tap the door or window sill before you pass through it, and say the password, or an alarm will sound throughout the house."

Harry and Ron glanced at one another. Harry had already seen a loophole in the spell — he could just wait until one of the adults went through a door to hear what the password was. With his super-hearing, Harry could be anywhere in the house and still listen in on what was said.

Hermione suddenly asked, "But what happens when you or Mrs. Weasley go through a doorway, Mr. Weasley? Won't we hear you say the password?" Harry and Ron both glared at her for pointing out this obvious flaw before they could exploit it.

"It will only work on underage wizards, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained. "Once you're seventeen the spell will no longer affect you." Hermione nodded, glancing at Harry as if to say, _I knew there'd be some catch to it_.

Now, two weeks later, Harry had been outside the Burrow only a handful of times since then, when Mrs. Weasley had felt like having dinner outside, when the kitchen was too hot in the afternoon to do any cooking. They were always quickly herded inside afterwards.

At least, he thought miserably, lying in bed waiting for a bit of sunlight to appear in the morning sky in his bedroom window, he hadn't had to explain the disappearance of his Firebolt. At least, not to anyone other than Ron, who kept pestering him to take it out of his trunk (where Harry had lied and told him it was stored) and give it a good servicing before they went back to Hogwarts in the fall. Harry had begged off of that chore as something he didn't feel like doing, since it would only remind him he couldn't fly it.

And to make things even worse, today was his sixteenth birthday. Harry could just imagine the cheery (not!) atmosphere around the breakfast table this morning, especially since neither Ron, Hermione, nor Ginny could have gotten out in the past two weeks to get him a present. Not that he _expected_ them to, mind you, but it was nice to receive gifts from his friends — it made him feel like he was really part of the family, something his aunt and uncle never bothered with. If anything, they'd gone out of the way to make him feel _unwelcome_ in their home.

He wasn't feeling particularly welcome at the Burrow just now, either, but Harry had to admit it was partly — well, mostly — his fault; he'd been out of bounds when he should have been home in bed, and only his superpowers had prevented the Weasleys from learning he'd been about as far away from the Burrow as he could get, not just in the broom shed. Mrs. Weasley had been spare for a week afterwards, checking in on him almost constantly. Harry had no doubt that, if she could have pulled it off, she would have added a hand for him on the Weasley family clock, the one that currently showed every one of the Weasley family were in "mortal peril."

Thinking about his birthday and how he felt about it reminded Harry of another birthday coming up — Ricky, Lana's son, would have his twelfth one in a few weeks. Harry wanted to know what Clark had found out about Ricky's magical powers — did his mother know, had she been contacted by anyone about it? Harry didn't know anything about the wizarding world in America — did they even _have_ schools where students could learn about witchcraft and wizardry? No one in Britain had ever mentioned such a school; he'd only heard about the European ones, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

Wait a minute! Harry suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. What was to keep Ricky from attending _Hogwarts_? Yeah, he'd be a year older than most first-years, but even Hermione, whose birthday was in mid-September, was older than anyone in her year. There was no reason Harry could think of that would keep Ricky from going, if he wanted to! Now, if he could just find a way to talk to him — or to Dumbledore or McGongagall, who would be the ones to send Ricky and Lana the letter inviting him! It would be brilliant!

Excited by this prospect, Harry lay awake all night, imagining helping Ricky with his Defense Against the Dark Arts spells, while Hermione tutored him on magical theory. By his second year (which would be Harry's seventh and final year) they might even get him onto the Quidditch pitch, if he showed any interest in the game. Harry was sure, with the aptitude Ricky had shown for throwing, he could put some wicked curves on the Quaffle, enough to get it past any Keeper in the school.

At last daylight began to seep through the window of his room, and Harry glanced once again at his watch, for what must have been the thousandth time that night. It was just before eight A.M., and he heard the sound of house slippers shuffling across the kitchen floor. A quick glance two floors down showed Mrs. Weasley just getting breakfast started. Harry let himself rise off the bed, rotating slowly so that his feet touched the floor just as he became vertical. He changed from his pajamas into his usual jeans, T-shirt and trainers. The smell of breakfast was beginning to fill his room; he took a deep breath, savoring the smell of cooking eggs, sausages and bacon. Even if he didn't exactly feel hungry any more, he still appreciated eating a good meal, especially one prepared by Mrs. Weasley, arguably the best cook he knew (though he wouldn't say so to Clark, who thought his own mum was the best cook in the world).

"Good morning, Harry," Mrs. Weasley greeted him pleasantly as he padded into the kitchen a minute later. "And happy birthday as well!" she added, as Harry mumbled good morning in return. "What would you like for breakfast this morning — anything you want, dear."

"Eggs and sausage is fine, thanks," Harry said, not wanting to be too much of a bother, even today. "And maybe a little bacon, please. And some toast." Mrs. Weasley smiled and began filling his plate, as Ron slouched sleepily into the room, rubbing his stomach.

"Morning, Harry," he said, dropping into the chair next to him. "Happy birthday, mate — sorry I didn't get you anything this year," his voice dropped to a mutter, "it was a bit hard to get out and find something."

"I heard that, Ronald Weasley," his mother said sternly, plopping a spoonful of eggs onto his plate. "You just eat your breakfast and never mind the smart comments." She tipped a half-dozen sausages onto his plate, and Ron tucked in with gusto, apparently too hungry to even exchange eye rolls with Harry over his mother's scolding.

"Remus will be coming for lunch," Mrs. Weasley mentioned, giving Harry a smiling look as she poured glasses of pumpkin juice for him and Ron. "I think we'll have a little party afterwards, too — perhaps Tonks will show up as well," she added, almost to herself, as if she were hoping so.

"Good morning," Hermione said, walking into the kitchen. "Happy birthday, Harry!" she smiled at him, then looked at Mrs. Weasley. "Have our booklists come yet?"

"Not yet, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied, setting a plate and glass in front of Hermione as she took a seat next to Harry, opposite Ron. She took only a small helping of eggs, and one piece of bacon, then helped herself to a piece of toast, nibbling on it as she waited for the owl post to bring her morning's _Daily Prophet_. Lately, Harry recalled, the _Prophet_ had brought them nothing but bad news — there were disasters, disappearances, and even deaths being recorded daily.

Mrs. Weasley evidently thought so as well. "Tsk," she clucked, disapprovingly. "I wish they'd put some happier news in the paper for a change," she said to Hermione.

"But we need to know what's going on, out in the world," Hermione pointed out. "It may not be good news, but we can't just ignore it!"

"No, I suppose not," Mrs. Weasley admitted. "It just seems — ah, there's your paper now!" An owl had swooped in the window, a copy of the _Prophet_ held tightly in its beak, and landed on the table in front of Hermione. It dropped the paper on her plate, and Hermione immediately picked it up off her eggs. She placed seven Knuts in the leather pouch attached to its leg, and the owl turned and flew out the window. Hermione opened the paper and began to read.

"Anyone we know die?" Ron asked, for about the tenth time since Hermione started reading the paper at the breakfast table that summer.

Hermione gave a gusty sigh, snapping the paper with irritation. She jerked it down and glared at Ron across Harry. "I _wish_ you'd stop asking — ohlook_out_!" Her hand had hit her glass of pumpkin juice, and it tipped over the edge of the table.

Harry turned toward the glass, and as he did so its motions suddenly slowed, then stopped, hanging in mid-air. Hermione had frozen as well, an expression of dismay on her face. Harry, confused for only a moment, realized his superspeed had kicked in and he was now perceiving things much more quickly than anyone else in the room. He glanced at Mrs. Weasley, seeing her eyes widened in surprise; Ron, next to him, was just beginning to turn at the sound of Hermione's exclamation. Harry looked at the glass itself, which was just off the edge of the table, its contents spilling into the air as the glass began to spin toward the floor.

Harry reached out and carefully grasped the glass, moving it so the orange liquid slipped back inside it, then rotating the glass so it was upright again. He let his perception slow again, so he was experiencing normal speed again.

Hermione gasped, seeing the glass in his hand. "Oh my goodness, Harry!" she said. "How did you catch that?"

"Quidditch reflexes, I guess," Harry shrugged, placing the glass back on the table. Ron clapped him on the shoulder.

"That was _brilliant_, Harry!" Ron grinned. "I don't think I've ever seen you move that fast before, even catching the Snitch!"

Harry shrugged again. He had responded without thinking about it, but what if he'd caught something that was too hot, or too heavy to explain as "Quidditch reflexes?" He'd have to watch things like that in the future.

Lupin showed up just before noon, for lunch, but Mrs. Weasley held off before serving anything for some time, in the apparent hope that Tonks would show up as well; however, the only persons to appear were Mr. Weasley, who had come home just to help celebrate Harry's birthday with the others, and Bill Weasley, to see Fleur as well as drop off a pouchful of money for Harry, mentioning that it would have taken Harry several hours if he had come down to the bank himself.

Mrs. Weasley finally announced lunch, looking a bit cross, and Ron muttered for only Harry to hear, "Mum has been trying to get Lupin and Tonks together all summer, but I don't think Tonks is having any of it — she seems really depressed."

Harry could guess why; if one of his cousins had murdered another cousin, he'd be pretty depressed about it, too. He hadn't seen her in some time, but according to Remus, who was being quizzed about her by Mrs. Weasley, she'd seemed subdued, much more quiet than normal. And she'd let her hair go back to its natural color, brown. _That_ had earned looks of concern from both Hermione and Ginny.

Remus himself was not faring much better, in Harry's opinion. Though he seemed cheerful enough when he arrived, he looked tired and drawn, his hair even more peppered with gray and his clothing more patched and threadbare than the last time Harry had seen him. He, too, was concerned about the news in the _Prophet_, though all through lunch he kept mentioning reading about items in the paper about someone or another disappearing, or shops closing in Diagon Alley, and similar dire news, much to Mrs. Weasley's displeasure.

Finally, as Harry's birthday cake was brought to the table, and Mrs. Weasley cut pieces for everyone, Lupin announced the latest from that morning, that Igor Karkaroff, the former headmaster of Durmstrang, had been found dead in a shack up north. "Frankly," Lupin added, "I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters. Sirius's brother Regulus only managed a few days, as far as I can remember."

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue?" Bill asked Remus. "He was —"

"He ran the ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley," Harry said hollowly. It was another piece of unpleasant news intruding on the day. "He used to give me free ice cream, when I was staying at the Leaky Cauldron a few years ago. What happened to him?" Harry asked, not really wanting to know.

"Dragged off, by the look of the place," Bill said, matter-of-factly.

"Why would they do that?" Ron asked, as his mother glared at Bill. "He was just a ruddy ice cream man, for Merlin's sake!"

"Who knows?" Bill shrugged. "He might've offended them, somehow."

"Yeah," Ron looked as upset as Harry felt. "He probably put too many nuts on one of their sundaes…"

"Speaking of Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley put in, "looks like Ollivander's is gone, too."

"The wandmaker?" Ginny, who was about to take a bite of cake, looked up, startled. Harry remembered that Dumbledore had told him to get Clark a wand just a few weeks ago — his premonition about Ollivander had been correct.

"That's the one," Mr. Weasley nodded. "His shop's empty. There's no sign of a struggle, so no one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."

"But what will people do about wands?" Ginny wanted to know.

"They'll have to make do with other makers," Lupin said. "But he was the best, and if they have him now it's not good for us."

The birthday party, grim as it was getting, broke up shortly after that, and Bill and Mr. Weasley departed back to their respective jobs. Lupin was preparing to leave a short while later, but as he bade Mrs. Weasley goodbye Harry, who'd tarried in the kitchen hoping for a chance to talk to him, stopped him at the kitchen door.

"Professor? Can I have a word before you go?"

"Of course, Harry," Lupin smiled at him. "And you don't have to call me 'Professor' any more — Remus will do. What can I do for you?"  
"Um, can we go outside?" Harry asked, glancing back at Mrs. Weasley. When she looked up sharply, he added, "I promise I won't run off."

Lupin looked at Mrs. Weasley. "Molly?"

She looked a bit wary, but shrugged and said, "Oh, all right. It _is_ your birthday, after all, Harry."

Remus nodded and, taking out his wand, tapped on the kitchen doorsill, then ushered Harry through. They took a few steps away from the door. "Now, what is it, Harry?" Lupin asked again.

"I, um, actually wanted to ask a question about school," Harry began, slowly.

"Indeed?" Lupin seemed both intrigued and amused. "I'd think you'd want to avoid that subject — you only have one more month before you go back, you know."

"Right," Harry said. They had stopped just at the gate that marked the edge of the protections around the Burrow. "Well, it's a hypothetical situation. Suppose a student living somewhere other than Britain wanted to attend Hogwarts. Would that be possible?"

Lupin considered a moment. "I suppose Albus would allow it," he said at last. "My parents considered sending me to Durmstrang, as it seemed to have a more, well, 'progressive' set of guidelines concerning students with special needs, such as mine were at the time."

"But you ended up at Hogwarts," Harry said, stating the obvious. "Why?"

"Well, because I insisted," Remus said, wryly. "I made a right pain of myself, carrying on about staying in Britain and not going off to some foreign country like Bulgaria. The truth was, I was a bit intimidated by that place, knowing its reputation for teaching Dark magic — I thought I might end up like the man that had attacked me, Fenrir Greyback — an evil, twisted person."

Lupin gave Harry a shrewd look. "So who's this person you're thinking about, Harry? Who do you know out of country that might want to attend Hogwarts?"

Harry hesitated a moment, but realized that even if Lupin told Professor Dumbledore about Ricky, that was pretty much what he wanted to happen. "Well, there's a kid over in Kansas that seems to have magical abilities, and I thought —"

"Wait a moment," Lupin's expression had turned incredulous. "Kansas — you mean, as in the American _state_? How would you know somebody living _there_, Harry?"

"It's a long story," Harry said, a bit uncomfortably. "Superman knows his mother, and —"

But Lupin interrupted him again. "_Superman_? But he disappeared years ago!"

"He's back," Harry replied.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because his ship nearly crashed into my aunt and uncle's house, the night I got back from Hogwarts."

"How do you know _that_?" Lupin exclaimed.

"Because I went after the ship after it almost hit my house, to see where it was going to land, and Superman came out of it." Harry didn't mention the circumstances of how he and Superman met.

"That's pretty bloody amazing," Lupin said, frankly. "Who else did you tell about this, Harry?"

"Nobody," Harry said, then amended himself. "Well, Professor Dumbledore found out about it, I guess." Lupin laughed.

"That man! I can't believe he didn't tell me about it," Harry's former teacher said, shaking his head. Between whatever happened to his hand and your meeting Superman this summer, I can hardly wait to find out which story is more incredible!" Lupin glanced at his pocket watch. "But, I'll have to hear it some other time, I've got to run. I'll let Dumbledore know about your friend in Kansas, Harry. You'd better get back inside, before Molly wonders if you've run off again." Nodding goodbye, Lupin stepped through the gate, turned on this heel then disappeared.

The next day, August first, the letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts, and with them a surprising addition to Harry's packet — a Quidditch Captain's badge. Hermione practically squealed with delight as he pulled it from his envelope. "Just think!" she said, beaming happily at Harry. "That gives you equal status with prefects! Now you can use our special bathrooms and everything!"

Ron reached out and touched the badge, giving Harry a whop on the back (which Harry was careful to "give" with this time, so Ron wouldn't hurt his hand). "Brilliant, Harry! I remember when Charlie got one of these," he said. "So now you're _my_ Captain — assuming you let me back on the team, ha ha…" he added, nervously. Harry raised an eyebrow at him — why would he think Harry wouldn't let him back on the team?

Mrs. Weasley was looking over the booklists, frowning. "I suppose we can't put off a trip to Diagon Alley any longer," she muttered, with a sign. "We'll do it this Saturday — if your father doesn't have to work; I'm not going into Diagon Alley without him.

"Can we go, too, Mum?" Ginny spoke up eagerly. "I want to see Fred and George's new shop!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited breathlessly for her answer. They had been cooped up in the Burrow for weeks now, with hardly even a trip outside, much less away from the house.

Mrs. Weasley looked dubious at first, but relented. "Oh, I suppose it will be fine, if we stay all together, mind you! We still have to be very careful!"

"Mum, it's not like You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind the bookshelves at Flourish and Blotts, waiting for us," Ron sniggered.

"Oh, and I suppose you think Fortescue or Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" Mrs. Weasley replied, angrily. "If you think it's so funny, Ronald Bilius Weasley, you may just as well stay here at the Burrow, and I'll get your things myself!"

"No, Mum!" Ron hastily corrected himself. "I don't think it's funny! And I want to see Fred and George's new shop, too!"

"Then mind your tongue, young man," his mother said hotly, "before I decide you're too immature, for Diagon Alley _or_ Hogwarts!" She dropped the booklists into a basketful of clothing bound for the wash, along with her nine-handed Weasley clock, and stormed out of the room.

Ron turned to Harry with an incredulous look. "A bloke can't even make a joke around here any more…"

"You better watch your mouth," Ginny warned him, "or you're gonna get us _all_ grounded from going to Diagon Alley!"

But Ron kept his mouth mostly shut for the next few days, and Saturday arrived without any further incident, though Mrs. Weasley appeared nervous and distracted at breakfast. Afterwards, a Ministry car pulled up outside, black and gleaming, and they settled comfortably into it for the trip to London. "Nice ride, Dad," Ron said appreciatively, stretching out in the wide back seat between Harry and Hermione.

"Don't get too used to it," Mr. Weasley warned, from the front seat. "It's only because of Harry. He's got top-grade security status while we're at Diagon Alley. We'll be meeting up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Oh, is it Tonks?" Hermione asked, hopefully. "We haven't seen her in quite some time."

"No, someone else," Mr. Weasley said, a small smile on his face. "You'll see, once we're there." And he would say nothing more about who it was.

Curious, Harry focused his vision on London and Charing Cross Road, where he saw Hagrid standing outside the Leaky Cauldron, his lips pursed in what was probably tuneless whistling, as startled Muggles passed by and stared at his tremendous height and girth. "I'll bet it's Hagrid," he said to Ron, and Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow at him, but offered neither confirmation nor denial.

A surprisingly short time later they arrived, slowing as the car pulled onto Charing Cross Road and stopping in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "Here you are," the driver said to Mrs. Weasley. "I'm to wait for you as well — any idea how long you'll be?"

"Oh, a couple of hours, I expect," Mrs. Weasley answered, then looked out the window. "Good, he's here, then."

As Harry had said, Hagrid was there, tall and black-bearded, wearing a long beaverskin coat, beaming as Harry slid out of the back door of the car.

"Harry, how are yeh?" Hagrid grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug. "Buckbeak — er, well Witherwings I guess — is so happy to be back in the open again, yeh should see him!"

Harry grinned. "Glad he's pleased," he said. Once again he'd had to "give" a bit, even for Hagrid, whose prodigious strength was nothing compared to Harry's, now. He made a show of massaging his ribs, smiling as Hagrid hugged Ron, Ginny and Hermione as well, and shook Mr. Weasley's hand.

"Jus' like old times, innit?" he said to Harry, as they stepped toward the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. "The Ministry wanted a gaggle o' Aurors protecting yeh, but Dumbledore said I was enough." Hagrid puffed out his chest proudly. He held the door to the pub open for them. "Molly, Arthur, after you…"

Looking around, Harry was surprised just how empty the Leaky Cauldron was; they were the only people there right now, other than Tom the landlord, who looked up hopefully as they entered.

"Jus' passing through today, Tom," Hagrid said, nodding to him. "Important Hogwarts business — sure yeh unnerstan'." Tom nodded, with a gloomy shrug, and went back to wiping already-clean glasses once more. The group passed through the bar, into the courtyard in the back, and Hagrid tapped the brick in the wall with his umbrella-wand, opening the archway. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, ev'ryone," he said, a touch of irony in his voice. Looking around, Harry could see why.

Diagon Alley was no longer the bustling, busy affair that it had been when Harry first came here, almost five years ago to the day. Now, instead of colorful, glittering window arrays of book, potion ingredients and cauldrons, there were Ministry of Magic posters up everywhere, most of them being larger versions of the security instructions the Ministry had sent out earlier that summer. A few, however, were large black-and-white pictures of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Harry scowled at a picture of Bellatrix Lestrange that grinned maliciously at him as he walked by it.

Several shops were boarded up, including (as Mr. Weasley had said) Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. But there were also other shops, hastily set-up affairs consisting of stalls or tents, with signs like "Amulets, Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors and Inferi" or "Sure-Fire Protection Spells Against Dark Magic" in front of them. An old wizard waved a handful of amulets in front of Mrs. Weasley as they passed, leering at Ginny as he hawked his wares.

Mr. Weasley had stopped and was looking at the wizard in anger. "If I were on duty —" he muttered, darkly.

"But you aren't, dear," Mrs. Weasley reminded him, grabbing his arm and pulling him along. "And we're in a hurry today, anyway. Ah, here we are," she said, stopping in front of Madam Malkin's. "Hermione said she needs new dress robes, and both Harry and Ron have grown so much —"

"Well, if we're in such a hurry," Mr. Weasley suggested, "then why don't we let those three stay here, with Hagrid, while we go on to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school books."

Mrs. Weasley looked uneasy. "I don't know," she said, dithering. "Hagrid, do you think it'll be okay —"

"No worries, Molly," Hagrid smiled soothingly. "They'll be fine wit' me." Molly didn't look entirely convinced, but nodded and she, Mr. Weasley and Ginny walked off toward the book store, while the three of them went into the robe shop.

Hagrid peered into the shop but did not enter with them. "Might be a bit crowded with alla us in there," he muttered, standing so his face was no longer visible. "I'll jus' stand guard outside here."

The shop appeared empty as the three walked inside, looking around, but after a few moments Harry heard a familiar voice, one that set his teeth on edge. "— I am quite capable of doing my shopping _alone_, Mother. I am not a child!" Draco Malfoy appeared from behind a rack of green and blue robes, stepping over to a mirror to check his appearance. It was several seconds before he noticed the reflections of Harry, Ron, and Hermione staring at him.

Malfoy lifted his head and sniffed the air, then turned around. "Oh, it's you, Potter. Thought I smelled something." When Harry didn't react, Malfoy went on, "I see your friends are with you. I guess you didn't step in dragon dung, after all—it's just a Mudblood."

Ron reached for his wand just as Madam Malkin came scurrying out from behind the rack, a tape measure and wand in her hands. "Now, there's no need for language like that!" she said, nervously, then added, seeing Ron's wand out, "and no wands drawn in my shop, if you please!"

"Don't do anything!" Hermione whispered in Ron's ear. "It's not worth it, honestly!" Ron reluctantly slid his wand back into his pocket.

"Yes, Ronnie, it's not worth it," Malfoy sneered. "As if you'd dare do magic out of school. Hey, Granger," he said suddenly, "who gave you the black eye? Perhaps I should send them flowers?"

"Alright, that's enough!" Madam Malkin said sharply. She looked over her shoulder for support. "Madam, please —"

Narcissa Malfoy walked slowly out from behind the rack of robes, a haughty expression on her beautiful but cold face. "I think that's enough, Draco," she said, staring at the three Gryffindors. "It's impolite to make fun of those less fortunate than you, and they clearly are."

Harry stepped toward her, now as tall as she was. "I suppose we'll just have to suffer along, then, not being Voldemort's toadies like you are," he said hotly.

Madam Malkin looked horrified. "Don't say his name!" she squeaked. "Please!"

Narcissa smiled coldly. "How like Dumbledore you are, in some ways," she said, taking a few steps so she was between him and Draco. "I'm sure that comes of you being his favorite. But Dumbledore won't always be around to protect you, will he?"

Harry looked around, mockingly. "He's not here now, is he? Maybe you'd like to a have a go right now, then? Or would you rather wait for that loser husband of yours to get out of prison?"

"Don't you talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Malfoy snarled. "_Or_ say anything against my father! _You're_ the one who put him in prison!"

"Your father put himself there, Malfoy," Harry replied, coldly. "I didn't force him to attack me or my friends."

Madam Malkin, not knowing what else to do about the tenseness of the situation, decided to ignore it. She began fiddling with one of the sleeves on Malfoy's robe. "I think this left sleeve could come up a bit — let me just…"

"Ouch!" Malfoy stepped away from her, his hand over his left forearm. "Watch where you're sticking those pins, woman!" He looked at this mother. "I'm getting tired of this —" He pulled the robe off over his head and dropped it on the floor. "Mother, let's go, this place isn't fit to shop in any more."

Narcissa looked contemptuously at Hermione. "I agree, Draco, now that I see what kind of scum shop here. We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's." The pair turned and walked out of the shop, Malfoy being sure to bump into Ron as hard as he could on the way. Which for Harry was the final straw.

Everyone was watching the Malfoys leave, except for Madam Malkin, whose eyes were on the robe Draco had dropped on the floor. "Well —" she began to say. Harry waited until Draco reached back to pull the shop door closed, then moved faster than the eye could follow. He took a scrap of parchment and a pin from a nearby cutting table, writing two words on the parchment using a quill and inkwell sitting next to the table. Moving behind Malfoy, he pinned the parchment on the blond teenager's back, then sped back to his original location with just a tenth of a second of time elapsed. The Calming Charm was still working well — his movement had not disturbed any of the robes or cloth bolts hanging around the shop.

"— _really_!" Malkin finished, as she reached down and snatched up the robe Malfoy had dropped. She began fitting their robes, but seemed nervous and distracted throughout Ron and Harry's fittings; she even tried to sell Hermione wizard's dress robes instead of witch's, and in general hurried them along so much Harry wondered who she was more upset with, them or the Malfoys.

Outside, Hagrid was leaning against the side of the building, chuckling to himself. "What's so funny, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, looking around. Malfoy and his mother were long gone by now, of course.

"Oh, nuthin'," Hagrid said, giving an airy wave with one of his huge hands. "Jus' thinking what a sense o' humor that Madam Malkin has, 'sall."

"She didn't seem in a very good humor to me," Ron groused. "Practically ran us out of her shop just now." Hermione nodded; neither of them saw the small smile Harry had on his face.

"Did you see the Malfoys?" Harry asked, still smiling.

"Yeah," Hagrid grinned. "But I wouldn't worry 'bout them — they won't make any trouble, not in the middle of Diagon Alley, anyway."

Ron looked at him, incredulous, and was about to point out what had just gone on inside Madam Malkins when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny showed up, all carrying heavy packages of books.

"Everyone got your robes?" she asked, peering at the three. "Right, then—we'll pop past the Apothecary, then Eeylops, and then on to Fred and George's…"

Harry found himself thinking of Smallville as they made their way through the chemist's shop and the owl emporium. He had nothing to buy in the apothecary's — Snape would never let him continue with N.E.W.T.s Potions without an "O" grade, and he had made only an "E." He was hoping Remus had talked to Dumbledore about allowing a student from America to attend Hogwarts. The only thing he worried about was whether Ricky was ready — he'd seemed a bit immature for his age. Harry was fairly sure he'd never acted that way when he was twelve — though, he had to admit, he hadn't dared talk back to his aunt or uncle, even as shabbily as they treated him.

In Eeylops he and Ron each bought a large box of owl nuts, for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, respectively; Harry put his in his rucksack as they walked slowly down Diagon Alley, looking for Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Mrs. Weasley was checking her watch every minute as she stared anxiously from store to store.

"We haven't got that long," she was saying, glancing again at her watch. "We'll just have a quick look round and then back to the car."

"_Whoa_!" Ron said suddenly, brought up short as they looked up at number 93, Diagon Alley. Compared to the other boarded-up or posted-over windows of nearby shops, Fred and George's windows hit the viewer like a fireworks display — almost literally, as lights and objects glimmered and spun in dizzying patterns, with starbursts and shooting sprays of color making them all blink. Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes, and Ron's were nearly popping out at the sight of so much magic. Mr. Weasley was smiling uncertainly, as if he didn't know quite what to make of it all — especially the large purple poster with flashing yellow letters that proclaimed, "WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO? YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO — THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!"

Mrs. Weasley stared at the poster, aghast. "They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispered.

Both Harry and Ron were choking, they were laughing so hard. "No they won't, Mum!" Ron said, between peals of laughter. "They're brilliant!' The group quickly made their way into the crowded shop. Harry had to be careful here; people were moving and jostling against one another — it would be too easy for someone to bump into him and hurt themselves before he realized it and gave way for them.

All of the Weasley favorites were here — Skiving Snackboxes, for cutting classes by pretending to be ill; fake wands that would turn into rubber chickens or fish when waved — the pricier ones would suddenly begin smacking the unsuspecting wielder about the head and shoulders. There were boxes of Self-Inking, Self-Checking and Smart-Answer quills, and even toys like a small wooden man walking up the steps of a small gallows, a Reusable Hangman game.

He finally caught sight of Hermione and Ginny looking over a shelf with various love potions on it. Fred and George were both converging on the pair. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere," Fred was telling Hermione, then saw Harry and stuck out his hand. "Harry! Good to see you!"

"Hi, Fred," Harry said, shaking his hand, then George's. "Hi, George. What's up with the love potions?"

"And do they work?" Ginny asked curiously.

"Certainly they work," Fred said, importantly. He gave his younger sister a shrewd look. "But we're not selling them to you — anyway, from what we hear, you've already got about five boys on the go —"

"That's a big, fat lie," Ginny snorted. Hearing that gave Harry an odd sense of comfort, somehow. "What's this?" Ginny asked, taking a pink pot down from a shelf.

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," George said, briskly. "But don't avoid the question. Are you or are you not currently dating a boy named Dean Thomas?"

"Are," Ginny answered, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at her older brothers. "What business is that of yours?"

"_We're_ asking the questions here, little sister," Fred informed her.

"So what happened to Michael Corner?" George pressed.

"I dumped him, he was a sore loser," Ginny said, with a toss of her head. Then she caught sight of a cage filled with pink and purple balls of fluff, all rolling about and emitting high-pitched squeaks. "Oooh, what are _these_? They're reallycute!"

"They are rather adorable," Fred allowed. "They're Pygmy Puffs, miniature puffskeins. They're flying off the shelves, we can't breed them fast enough."

"But back to the matter at hand," George said, severely. "You seem to be flying through boyfriends pretty fast yourself."

Ginny turned and gave them both a baleful look; she quite resembled Mrs. Weasley at that moment, and Harry wondered that Fred and George didn't recoil at the sight of her. "It's none of your business," she told them. "And _you_!" she whirled, pointing accusingly at Ron as he walked up to them. "I'll thank you not to go telling tales about me to these two!"

Ron's arms were full of Weasley merchandise, and Fred eyed the many boxes in his arms, adding up the damage. "That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," he said, holding out a hand. "Cough it up."

"But I'm your brother!" Ron howled.

"So's Percy," George said, unimpressed. "And we'd give him the same deal. Right, we'll even knock off the Knut, just for you."

"I don't _have_ three Galleons!" Ron moaned.

"Then put it all back," Fred told him, "and mind you put everything back where you found it!" Ron grimaced and dropped several boxes on the floor, just as Mrs. Weasley walked up.

"Ron, don't be so careless!" she told him sharply.

"You break it, you buy it," Fred warned him.

Ginny, seeing her chance, immediately launched into a campaign to have her mother buy her a Pygmy Puff. "Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?"

"A what?"

"Look, they're so sweet…"

Mrs. Weasley moved in closer to look at the puffskeins, and Hermione was pestering Ron look at them as well, giving Harry a moment to himself. He turned, looking out the shop's front window, and his enhanced vision caught a furtive figure moving through the shadows cast by the buildings across the street. He narrowed his focus, and the sharp pale features of Draco Malfoy resolved themselves. _Looks like he's given his mummy the slip_, Harry thought derisively. _I wonder why_. Knowing Malfoy and loathing him as he did, Harry was sure the reason wasn't innocent.

Harry moved, walking casually to the window, keeping his vision trained on Malfoy, watching him skulk through the shadows toward — wouldn't you know it? — Knockturn Alley. Once he turned down that side street, Malfoy moved more confidently. It didn't hurt, Harry noticed, that the street devoted to the Dark arts was just as deserted as Diagon Alley was. Malfoy made his way to the one shop that still appeared to be open — Borgin and Burkes, a place Harry was acquainted with as well, it being the one shop he had been inside in Knockturn Alley during his visit there before second year. Borgin, the proprietor, a small, oily-haired man, looked up as Malfoy entered; his expression was guarded, as if he realized the problems Malfoy could make for him if things did not go his way.

The jingle of the door's bell came to Harry's ear; it had taken the sound several seconds to travel the distance from Knockturn Alley. Harry cocked his ear slightly, eager to hear the conversation between Borgin and Malfoy.

"HARRY!" Harry winced in surprise as a voice seemed to shout his name directly in his ear. He turned. It was Mrs Weasley, looking at him curiously. "Harry, we're getting ready to leave," she said. "Are you alright, dear? You looked like your mind was a million miles away."

"Sorry," Harry said. He hadn't been quite that far away, though — less than a mile, really, in terms of attention. He started to turn back toward Malfoy and Knockturn Alley, but his attention was diverted once again, this time by Ginny, who held up a small purple ball of fluff in front of his face, beaming at him.

"See my new pet Pygmy Puff, Harry?" she said, smiling broadly. "Mum just bought him for me. Isn't he _cute_?"

"Adorable," Harry said, echoing Fred's earlier comment.

"Mum says we're going," Ginny went on. "Are you ready?"

"Well," Harry said, distractedly, "I haven't had much chance to talk to Fred and George, yet —"

"A tremendous oversight on your part, Harry," Fred said, appearing at Ginny's side. "We had so _much_ to show you, too —!"

"Like our Shield Hats," George stepping up on Ginny's opposite side, added. He held up a small black and blue package, waggling it in front of Harry. "Or Instant Darkness Powder, from Peru, if you need a quick getaway —"

"— or these Decoy Detonators," Fred added, holding out a few weird-looking horn-type objects in one hand. "Handy for creating a diversion. Just drop one on the floor and it'll run off a make a nice, loud noise out of sight. Here you go." He dropped a few into Harry's hand, and George handed a few packets of the instant darkness powder.

"Here's something you might like," George said, handing Harry a couple of Galleons. "Remember those D.A. Galleons Hermione made, the ones you could change the date and time on, and it would be shown on the other coins as well? We improved them."

Harry stared at the coins. They looked just like regular Galleons, he saw. George took one from him. "Watch this," he said, and tapped it with his wand, then spoke over it, saying, "Testing one, two, three." The coin in Harry's hand vibrated slightly, and as he watched the words TESTING ONE TWO THREE appeared on its face.

"That's brilliant!" Harry said, impressed.

"We think so, too," Fred said proudly. "Now, instead of just dates and times, you can send short messages to one another. We haven't quite worked out how to send from one specific coin to another — currently all the coins enchanted like this would get the same message, but we're working on it."

"This would be handy to have, though," Harry said, thinking he could communicate with Clark or Ricky if they had a coin. George tossed the coin back to him.

"Keep it, then — Fred and I can make more when we work out the details."

He looked around as Mrs. Weasley started calling for everyone to get ready to leave. "If there's anything you need, Harry, just let us know — we'll fix you up, no charge."

"But —" Harry began to protest, having already pulled out his money pouch to pay for the items they'd given him.

"No," Fred said firmly. "Put away your money, Harry — it's no good here. You gave us our start-up loan, remember?"

"Take whatever you like," George added, walking with Harry to the door. "Just remember to tell people where you got it from, if they ask."

Mrs. Weasley was herding them all toward the car. Harry hung back, taking a moment to check out what was happening at Borgin and Burkes, but Draco was already leaving the shop, looking very pleased with himself. Meanwhile, Harry saw, Borgin's eyes had remained on Draco's back, his expression one of amused confusion. Harry tuned his hearing to catch whatever conversation could still be heard, but all he got was, "—a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," he heard Borgin muttered, and the doorbell tinkled once again, followed by a slight chuckle from Borgin. Harry grinned to himself; even though he had missed whatever Draco was plotting, he'd put one over on Malfoy, though the Slytherin hadn't yet realized it. Pinned to his back was the parchment upon which Harry had written the words "Muggle lover" — Malfoy had been wandering through Diagon and Knockturn Alleys with that sign on his back for some time now. The few people he passed in the street were turning to look at him, smiling or chuckling. It would be interesting when Malfoy rejoined his mother and discovered that sign, Harry thought. Whistling a happy little tune, he slid into the back seat of the Ministry car and closed the door; the car pulled away from the curb, whisking them back toward the Burrow.

=ooo=

Harry had hoped that, after Diagon Alley, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would remove the spell keeping them from leaving the house without their permission, but the story of Draco Malfoy wandering around with a "Muggle lover" sign pinned to his back had made her suspicious. Neither Ron nor Hermione would admit to pinning the sign on Malfoy (ironically, Mrs. Weasley suspected Harry the least, which made him feel a bit guilty) and Narcissa had complained to the Ministry, suspecting one of the three Gryffindors they had encountered in Madam Malkins.

"It doesn't matter if _none_ of you did it, anyway," Mrs. Weasley said, stubbornly. "That Malfoy woman thinks you did, and that's enough cause for concern! You'll just have to wait until you go back to school."

It was frustrating, because Harry was cut off from everyone — from Clark, from Dumbledore — except by owl, and there was no way he was going to make his owl fly to Kansas! For one thing, she couldn't make such a trip over the Atlantic Ocean. For another, he was already keeping her busy trying to get a response from Professor Dumbledore on whether Hogwarts would accept students from America. He had hoped that Dumbledore would let him know, somehow, shortly after he talked to Remus, but it had been over a week now, and he had already sent two owl posts to the headmaster. Both times Hedwig had returned with no message. He had sent off a third post last night, to try one last time before it was too late. He'd really wanted to get some good news before Ricky's birthday, even if it looked like he was stuck here in the Burrow. He'd asked in his letters if Dumbledore could fix things with the Weasleys so he could attend Ricky's party Saturday afternoon.

But it was now Friday, the day before the party in Smallville, and Harry still had no word from Dumbledore, nor any way to contact Clark. He had spent the week playing Exploding Snap with Ron, Ginny and Hermione until it drove Mrs. Weasley mad and she took away the deck, then played wizard chess against Ron (actually beating him a few times in the process, a benefit of his super-memory and enhanced cognitive abilities) until they were both bored with it. Hermione had tried researching the spell keeping them inside the house, learning that even a detection spell would set off the alarm, which had brought Mrs. Weasley running and got Hermione into a spot of trouble.

Fred and George had been over for dinner, earlier in the week, and they'd had a go at it as well, but came up short. "It's a damned good spell," Fred admitted to the trio and Ginny, "since Remus had a hand in it as well as Mum and Dad. Dumbledore probably helped them with it, too. So —"

"— you're probably stuck here," George finished, glumly.

Harry was even considering trying to fly through a door or window at super-speed, in the hope that he would be moving too fast for the spell to activate, but common sense told him that wouldn't work either, not if a detection spells set it off. Fred and George had mapped the spell; it extended over every door, every window, every flue opening and even over the walls and ceilings, so that breaking through a wall would set off the alarm as well. Dumbledore's hand was definitely in this, Harry decided. He'd thought of everything.

There was a fluttering at the window, which Harry had left open, and Hedwig landed on the window sill, hooting tiredly. "Hedwig!" Harry beamed, going over to the window and offering her his arm. She stepped onto it, and Harry moved slowly over to her perch. "How are you doing, girl?" he asked, softly, stroking her head. "Tired, I'll bet — it's way past your bedtime." She nipped affectionately at his finger — Harry no longer felt those nips, his invulnerability made that impossible now, but he knew what they were. "There's more owl nuts for you, there," he pointed to the food tray he'd just filled earlier that morning. "And don't worry — no more trips to Hogwarts for you, until we leave in September."

There was a note attached to her leg this time, and Harry quickly removed it, going back and sitting on his bed to read it.

_

* * *

Harry,_

_Please excuse my tardiness in responding to your posts. I am sorry to inform you that I do not have the authority to invite students from other countries to attend Hogwarts without approval from the International Confederation of Wizards, as well as the student's home government._

_The approval process would take about six weeks, so even if it began right away, it would be late September before the student could attend Hogwarts. If the student is a wizard, his or her parents will be notified of the options available to them when he reaches the age of twelve, the minimum age to attend an accredited American wizarding school._

_I must also unfortunately inform you that my schedule does not permit me to "rescue" you from the Burrow, as you so quaintly put it, this Saturday. However, I do look forward to your own arrival at Hogwarts this year — we have much to discuss._

_As always, yours sincerely,  
__Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore_

* * *

Harry lay back on the bed, once again disappointed. He was so _sure_ Dumbledore would be able to fix things so Ricky could attend Hogwarts! Even so, he reminded himself, all was not lost yet — the letter had said Ricky's parents would be notified when he reached the minimum age to attend an American school, which would be his next birthday. Could that mean Ricky was likely to be contacted _that day_? Harry wished Ricky's birthday party was being held on the day of actual birthday instead of the day before.

What he was most upset about, however, was not being able to attend Ricky's birthday party in the first place. There had to be _some_ way around the spell keeping him, as well as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, inside. But every exit seemed to be covered — doors, windows, every opening and every wall or ceiling with open air on the other side of it. Even Apparating, if he could do it, would set off the alarm — but that had been thought of as well, Fred and George had said.

There was a scratching sound from the desk where Harry had composed his letters to Dumbledore, and he glanced over it, then sat upright, watching in amazement as a quill dipped itself in ink and began scratching a message on a blank piece of parchment. Harry walked over to the desk, watching as the quill slowly wrote a message.

Harry this is Superman — May I fly into your room — nod if it's okay.

Harry looked upward, scanning the sky with his super vision until he caught sight of Superman, floating above the Burrow, perhaps a mile up. He had a look of intense concentration on his face, and his right hand was moving as if he were writing something. Harry glanced at the window, which was still open, then looked up and nodded. A moment later, the Man of Steel was standing next to him.

"Hi, Harry — sorry it took me so long to figure out you couldn't contact me," Superman said apologetically. "I would have come here before now if I had."

"Wow, am I glad to see you," Harry said, happiness and relief in his voice. "I've been trying to figure out a way to get in contact with you without leaving the house." He pointed toward the writing on his desk. "So how'd you do that, then?"

"I've been practicing working magic," Superman told him. "It's a lot harder than you make it look, let me tell you!"

Harry glanced at his trunk. Yes, he could see the wand they'd bought at Diagon Alley, still hidden inside. He looked back at Superman. "That's pretty impressive," he told the Man of Steel. "Usually it takes a while to learn simple levitation spells even _with_ a wand, and you were making that quill write from over a mile away!"

"So tell me," Superman asked, "what happened that's keeping you from leaving this house? Is it magic?"

"Sort of," Harry said, and explained about the Weasleys wanting to protect him from Lord Voldemort, especially after the big fight in the Ministry of Magic two months ago, the one where his godfather Sirius had been killed.

"So only your headmaster, Dumbledore, knows about your super powers?" Superman asked. Harry nodded. "Well, I don't know that I disagree with his reasoning," Superman went on, "but I thought that the Fidelius Charm would keep anyone from learning my secret identity unless I told them."

"It will," Harry agreed. "But Professor Dumbledore seems to think you might unconsciously drop clues that would let people guess who you really are."

"Hmm," Superman looked thoughtful. "Something like that has happened before, with Lois," he said.

"So she _knows_ your secret identity?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Not any more," Superman replied, shaking his head. "Knowing my real identity was making it too difficult for her to live a normal life — I used a Kryptonian hypnosis technique to block her memory of my identity."

Harry said nothing, not pretending to understand, though it sounded something like a Memory Charm. But there _was_ something he wanted to know. "So what's up with Ricky? Did you talk to your mum about what your friend Lana knows?"

"They talked on the phone earlier this week," Superman said. "Mom says Lana has mentioned a few weird things happening at her house in the past few months, but she thought it was a poltergeist." Superman chuckled. "I told Mom that although wizards were real, poltergeists and ghosts probably weren't."

Harry gave Superman a look, then slowly nodded his head. Superman looked surprised. "What? You mean there _are_?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "We've got both at Hogwarts — quite a lot of ghosts, actually. And one poltergeist, who's a real pain in the arse sometimes."

Superman shook his head, bemused. "Well, I guess that goes to show, there's a lot more to most things than we realize."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, plaintively. "Like how I'm going to get out of here and attend Ricky's birthday party tomorrow."

Superman put on a serious expression. "I don't think I can condone disobeying your guardians, Harry. They _are_ trying to protect you, you know."

"I know, I know," Harry said, annoyed. "But I'm _invulnerable_, remember?"

"But not against magic," Superman reminded him. "And that's the primary weapon wizards use against one another, right?"

"True," Harry answered, reluctantly. "But most spells travel slow enough that I could easily dodge them. Even the Killing Curse can be dodged if you see it coming in slow motion! And besides," he pointed out. "You're going to be there _too_, aren't you?"

"_Clark Kent_ will be there," Superman corrected him. Then he smiled. "But I'll be around, of course. I'm always around." He stepped toward the window, then faced Harry again.

"I know Ricky and Lana would both like to see you at the party," he said. "I hope you can work something out."

"I'll try," Harry said, earnestly. Whether he could work something out or not, he planned to be there. It was just stupid, staying in this house when he could be out flying. Superman waved and disappeared out the window.

Harry was about to go downstairs and see what else was going on in the house when Superman's voice came from outside the window. "Harry?"

Harry went over to the window. Superman was floating there. "Do you want me to go get your broom?" Harry had mentioned the Weasleys noticed it wasn't in his room.

"No, it's not a big deal," Harry shook his head. "I mean, yeah, I'll need it back before I got to Hogwarts, but I don't need it right this second. Maybe we can fly up there after the party."

"We can do that," Superman said, and waving once again, he rose into the air until he was above the top of the Burrow, then shot away. Harry watched with his super-vision until the Man of Steel disappeared over the horizon.

_I've still got to get him to show me how to do that_, Harry thought, remembering that Superman _still_ hadn't shown him how to fly faster than sound in atmosphere without generating a tremendous backwash. _And, I've _got_ to find out a way out of this house by tomorrow night_, he added to himself. Clark had told him the party started at four P.M. — that gave him until about ten P.M. Saturday night to come up with a solution. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, then cursed to himself as he felt the two Galleons in there — he'd forgotten to give one to Superman! Well, one way or another, he'd see him Saturday and make sure he had one.

=ooo=

Lois pulled into the garage of their seaside home Friday evening, pulling out her cell phone and dialing Richard's number. "I'm home," she said tiredly. "Come and get it." She had phoned earlier, telling Richard that she would pick up Chinese when she got off work. She hadn't expected it to be this late, however — she'd worked well into early evening. They would be dining fashionably late.

The garage door opened and Richard and Jason appeared. "Hi," she greeted them, handing boxes and bags through the window to Richard, who handed a few in turn to Jason. Jason turned and made a beeline for the door to the house.

"Put them on the table," Richard told him, waiting for Lois to exit her car. He smiled at Lois, kissing her gently as she closed the car door. "And how was _your_ week?" he asked her, playfully.

"Don't ask," she groused. "I didn't think this week would _ever_ end. Your slave driver of an uncle has had me doing background pieces for the _Genesis_ launch, assuming it ever _does_ launch, as well as city desk work." They set the remaining boxes on the table; Jason was running back and forth, putting silverware on the table. "Jason, honey, did you take your medicine earlier?" Jason nodded. "Good!" Lois praised him.

"Take your time, buddy," Richard said, as Jason raced back to the silverware drawer. "You don't want your asthma to start up, do you?" Jason shook his head emphatically _no_. "Why don't you go practice your music?" Richard suggested. "Mommy and I will call you when supper's ready." He went into the next room and sat down at the keyboard of the electric piano.

Richard looked at Lois, a teasing smile on his face. "Perry just knows quality work when he sees it. After all, you _did_ just win a Pulitzer Prize, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Lois said, almost reluctantly. She was getting plates and glasses for the three of them. "'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman,'" she said, quoting the title of the editorial piece that had gotten her the coveted award.

Richard watched her for several seconds. "Do you miss him?" he asked, suddenly.

"Miss him?" Lois gave her fiancé a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you knew him, didn't you?" Richard pointed out. "And you were —" he glanced at Jason, mindful that the boy was listening to their conversation even though he seemed engrossed in playing scales. "— you were close, weren't you?"

"We were good friends," Lois hedged. "But all that's in the past, now. Superman's been gone for five years — nobody knows where he went. For all intents and purposes he abandoned us."

"Maybe he had a good reason for leaving," Richard suggested, mostly to see how Lois would react rather than believing what he was saying.

"Well, if he did," Lois retorted, "it's too bad he never let anyone in on it. A lot of people were affected by his disappearance."

"Such as?" Richard prompted her. He was being a bit of a dick, but Lois never opened up about this subject unless she was tired…or drunk…

Lois stared at him, and for a moment Richard thought she'd seen through his ploy. Perhaps she had, anyway, because she answered, "Such as — Clark Kent. The poor guy was traumatized when Superman left; he called up Perry and asked for an extended leave of absence — nobody's seen or heard from him since."

"So you miss _Clark_, then?" Richard asked.

"What? No," Lois looked as if the idea was ludicrous. "Clark is just — well, _Clark_. He was a good reporter, we did our share of stories together. But there's nothing else to it." Their phone rang, and Richard picked it up.

"Hello? Oh hi, Perry." Richard looked at Lois. "Yeah, she's here, we're just sitting down to a late — okay, here she is." He held out the phone, his hand over the receiver. "The iceman calleth."

Lois took the phone without comment. "Hi, Chief. What's up?" She listened for several seconds, then suddenly blurted, "You're _kidding_! Perry, that's _ridiculous_! Why would they schedule it for a Saturday —? Yeah, yeah, I know all about 'window of opportunity' and all that. Okay," she sighed. "I'm on it." She hung up the phone, giving Richard a look of aggravation.

"Uh-oh," he said, warily. "I know that look. What happened?"

"They finally rescheduled the _Genesis_ launch," Lois said, annoyed. "For _tomorrow_ afternoon! It takes off at 5 P.M — I've got to be in Houston by tomorrow afternoon if I want to be on the launch. I can't believe it!"

Richard looked at the boxes of food spread out on the kitchen table. "Want something to eat before you start packing?"

Lois glanced at her watch, frowning. "I don't know," she dithered. "I need to make flight reservations and book a hotel room — I have no idea whether I can make the last flight tonight — and everything is in the laundry, I don't have a _thing_ to wear…"

"Mommy…?" Lois turned. Jason was looking up at her, with eyes bright with tears and trembling lips. "Do y-you have to leave again?"

Lois crouched down so her face was level with his. "Yes, Jason, Mommy has to go Houston, to fly in the space shuttle."

"Shouldn't you eat something first?" Jason asked, tremulously. Lois and Richard glanced at one another.

"Yes, I should," Lois agreed. "But I don't know if I have enough to do that and still…" Lois's voice trailed off. "You know what?" she said, smiling at Jason. "We _should_ eat! And if I make it to Houston, I make it — if I don't, then I don't!"

Jason smiled and put his arms around her neck. When he let go Lois nodded at the table full of food. "Let's eat," she said.

=ooo=

Most of Saturday had come and gone, but by dinner that evening Harry still hadn't come figured out a way out of the Burrow. Now almost desperate to come up with a way around it, he'd engaged Ron and Hermione in a discussion up in Ron's room to try and come up with a solution to the "Burrowzkaban" problem, as Ginny had dubbed it earlier that week. Neither of them were very optimistic.

"I don't know what bloody good it's doing, talking about it anyway," Ron said, moodily. He was still a bit put out that his own mother had in effect accused him of not knowing where Harry was all the time. "Once Mum has made up her mind, wild hippogriffs couldn't make her change her mind."

"I know that, Ron," Harry said, impatiently. "But I'm not trying to change her mind — I'm just seeing if we can think of a way to get round that spell."

"And _then_ what?" Ron challenged.

"_I _don't know!" Harry said, a bit more shrilly than he'd intended. "It just seems like we should be able to think of _something_, doesn't it? I mean, look at all the things we've had to figure out in the past five years — like those traps the teachers set up to keep anyone from getting to the Philosopher's Stone. We got around those, didn't we?"

"And I figured out that Remus was a werewolf," Hermione added, sounding a bit proud.

"And I —" Ron stopped and thought for a moment. "I beat that wizard's chess set, didn't I?"

"That was first year, we already mentioned that," Hermione reminded him.

"Well, I still _did_ it, didn't I?" Ron argued.

"Forget about what's already happened!" Harry overrode their argument.

But Hermione looked at him helplessly. "Harry, we have to face facts… there's no way around the barrier. It's everywhere — around every exposed inch of the Burrow."

"Right," Ron agreed. "The one way around it would be to dig our way out, and it would take us _days_, even with magic, to make a tunnel that would take us out beyond the spell's reach.

Harry blinked. Oh, that was just too bloody simple! He'd never even _considered_ a way out beneath the house! "Ron, that's brilliant!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Ron looked surprised. "Digging our way out? It's not like we can really do it," he said, pessimistically. He looked at Harry and Hermione. "Can we?"

"Of course we can't, don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said. "Right, Harry… Harry?"

Harry was thinking furiously about what to say next. Finally he looked back at the two of them. "I can get us out of here," he said, calmly.

Ron and Hermione looked at one another. "Harry, what are you thinking about?" Hermione asked him. "The Burrow is built on a chunk of solid rock — the softest ground around here is in the garden, and it's only a few feet deep. We couldn't possibly —"

"Leave that to me," Harry said. He stood. "I have somewhere I have to be in —" he glanced at his watch "— a little over an hour. You can come along with me if you'd like, there's someone I want you to meet — a couple of people, in fact — but you have to decide _now_."

Hermione had a look of concern on her face. "Are — are you sure about this, Harry? We're supposed to be on guard against traps by Voldemort, you know —"

"Don't say that name!" Ron hissed.

"Oh, grow up, Ron!" Hermione said, firing up at his attitude. "It's just a name, you don't have to be afraid of it!" To Harry again, she said, "How do you know these — people — you know aren't trying to trick you?"

Harry smiled. "They've never even heard of Voldemort, Hermione — well, one has, but I told him about the situation, and he'd like to help us do something about him, if he can.

"For now, though, I want you to meet someone who might be a wizard but doesn't know it."

"A Muggleborn?" Hermione said, surprised. "Where'd you meet him?"

"Well," Harry hesitated. "That's a bit — er — complicated. I'd rather you meet him and see for yourself."

"We still have to get past the enchantment, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "How are we going to manage _that_?"

"I've, um, noticed an increase in my magical ability these past few weeks," Harry told her. "I hadn't said anything to either of you before because I didn't know how long it was going to last. But I think I'm strong enough now to get us out of here, using Ron's suggestion of digging our way out. So," he finished, looking at the pair of them. "Are you in this with me, or not?"

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another again. Ron grinned, nodding. "We're in," Hermione said.

=ooo=

The hardest part, Harry reckoned, was finding a place in the house they could use to start tunneling their way out. Almost every inch of the Burrow's ground floor was being used in some way. "There is an old cupboard beneath the stairs," Ron remembered. "Fred and George used to tell me I was invisible when I was inside there." He shrugged. "Mostly, I think they just liked putting me in there, really."

"It'll do," Harry said, getting out his Invisibility Cloak. The three of them got underneath it, then inched their way down the stairs, hearing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking in the kitchen. None of them had seen Ginny since dinner.

"She's probably up in her room, with Arnold," Hermione whispered. "She really likes her new pet Pygmy Puff."

Ron carefully undid the hook holding the cupboard door closed, and slowly pulled it open. The door made a squeaking sound, which sounded like it echoed through the entire house, until Hermione pointed her wand at it and said, softly, "_Silencio_," and the door ceased creaking.

"I thought that spell was only for silencing people," Ron whispered to her.

"It will work on any sound you don't want heard," Hermione replied.

The cupboard was not very large, just big enough for the three of them to stand inside it, cramped and bent over. Both Hermione and Ron looked at Harry. "Well, we're here," Ron whispered. "_Now_ what?"

"There's an awful lot of stone to remove, Harry," Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "Are you sure you can do it?"

"I'm going to give it a go," Harry muttered, determinedly. He pointed at the cupboard door, whispering, "_Colloportus_," to lock it, then pointed to the floor, which was bare stone here beneath the staircase, and said, "_Defodio_." A round hole appeared in the floor, just big enough for them to slip down. Harry repeated the spell, holding his wand so the hole being gouged out began curving in a horizontal direction. After casting the Gouging Charm several times, the tunnel extended quite some distance down, curving beneath the house in the direction of the garden. The sides of the hole were smooth, as Harry intended, so they could slip down and along it.

"I'll go first," Harry said, putting his wand away for the moment, "and extend the tunnel when I get to the end. Then I'll call back for you to follow me." Ron and Hermione both nodded, though neither of them appeared to like the idea much. This tunnel was not nearly as big as the one they had used to travel from Hogwarts to the Shrieking Shack a few years ago. That couldn't be helped, though; Harry didn't want a tunnel that would be _too_ easy to use.

He slid head-first into the tunnel. The smooth walls and sloping angle let him move downward easily, until he reached the end of the tunnel, about thirty feet from the cupboard. Taking out his wand again, Harry repeated the Gouging Charm several more times, moving along as the tunnel extended further under the Burrow toward the garden behind it. Using his X-ray vision to guide his progress, Harry began angling the tunnel upward again once he was nearly past the garden. He reached the surface again, coming up just past the hedge that lined the far end of the garden. "Come on through," he called back down the tunnel. "I'm on the other side." He heard Ron and Hermione bicker momentarily about who should go first, and shook his head wearily. Then he heard the sound of them moving along the tunnel.

Harry looked back at the Burrow, listening for any sign that the alarm had sounded, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were only talking about getting ready for bed. Good — that meant they had successfully avoided tripping the alarm! A few minutes later Hermione, then Ron, emerged, both a bit dirtier than before, from dust and such in the tunnel. Looking around, Harry located a small boulder big enough to cover the tunnel's exist. He pointed his wand at it, and the boulder lifted into the air, settling over the hole.

"Now what, Harry?" Hermione asked, brushing dirt off her clothing and out of her hair. "Where do we go from here?"

"Uh —" Harry hadn't quite worked that out yet. He'd Side-Along Apparated with Professor Dumbledore, but even if any of them were old enough to do it, he wasn't sure he could do it himself, having only followed Dumbledore's lead when they went to see Horace Slughorn.

Similarly, a Portkey was right out — you had to have Ministry permission to create one (though it was an almost unenforceable law), but Harry had never studied the theory, so he was unsure what to do beyond saying "_Portus_" and tapping the object to be enchanted. And they couldn't use brooms (his was still in Clark's ship, in the Antarctic) nor a flying car (the Weasleys' Anglia was still roaming the Forbidden Forest!) nor a flying carpet (banned in Britain, anyway).

Well, there was nothing else for it, Harry sighed to himself.

"Yeah," Ron said, looking at Hermione. "Just where is it we're —" he, then Hermione, suddenly went limp, rendered unconscious by the two Stupefy spells Harry had suddenly hit them with. He pocketed his wand and flashed around behind them, catching them before they fell to the ground.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "But it'll be easier if you both wake up in Kansas." After considering a moment, he let go of them; then, moving at super-speed, took out his wand again and cast _Mobilicorpus_ on each of them. With Ron and Hermione now floating in the air, Harry prepared them for the trip. He cast a Bubble-Head Charm on each of them, then a Calming Charm, followed by an Unbreakable Charm on each article of clothing they were wearing, and his own as well — the Calming Charm not being effective at preventing friction damage. Remembering that their exposed skin would be at risk as well, since they weren't invulnerable like him, Harry added Bubble-Head Charms to each of their hands.

Now they were ready to travel. Putting his arms under each of their shoulders, Harry lifted off gently, flying straight up until they were about a mile in the air, then flattening out slowly as he climbed until he was perhaps 15,000 feet up. He began to accelerate, watching carefully for signs that the Bubble-Head Charms were going to fail due to the wind whipping around them. He was flying at Mach one, then two, and still accelerating, until he could see the Bubble-Head shell begin to vibrate, just past Mach seven. Harry backed off a bit until the shells looked steady again; he was now traveling at about 4500 MPH. That would get them to Kansas in just about an hour. Harry hoped he would be close enough by then to slow down to a speed that would allow Ron and Hermione to breath once the Bubble-Head Charm ended.

Normally, it only took Harry a minute or two to fly from the Burrow to Smallville, but that was when he could go as fast as he wanted to, and out of the atmosphere. Now, he just had to be patient and not try to hurry, or he might do something that would endanger Ron and Hermione. Taking the "slow" route did give him the chance to examine the Atlantic and northeastern United States as he passed over them, using his superspeed to take in details that no normal human would have time to notice at hypersonic speeds.

Soon he was flying over Kansas, but Harry did not begin angling downward as he normally would. He was going to stop directly over the Kent farm, then drop down and into their yard, hopefully giving no one much of a chance to see him. He had gained a little time flying, so the Bubble-Head spells were still operating. Even as he dropped toward the Kent farm, he heard four soft _pops_ that signaled the end of the spells. From a few thousand feet up, Harry looked down and saw that Clark had come out into the yard, waiting for him to land. There was a bemused look on his face, Harry saw — he was probably surprised to see Harry's friends with him.

Harry landed a few feet in front of Clark, still holding an unconscious Ron and Hermione. "Were they conscious when you began flying here?" Clark asked, dryly.

"No, I didn't want to try and explain my powers or how I got them," Harry said. "These are my friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They don't know about you, of course — and I don't want them to find out about my powers, at least for now."

"I'll let Mom know," Clark nodded. "But they are magical as well, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah," Harry said, grinning. "Hermione's the smartest witch of her age in our school. Ron, he's — well, he's my best friend."

"I see," Clark smiled. "So, when do you plan to wake them up?"

"No time like the present," Harry shrugged. He let go of both of them, letting the _Mobilicorpus_ spell take over again, so they were both floating just above the ground. "They're going to be a bit irritable when they wake up, I expect — the last thing they remember, they were in Devon, where Ron's family lives. But I wanted you to meet them before school started, and they did help me figure out a way to get around the spell keeping in the Burrow."

"You didn't talk it over with the people you were staying with?" Clark asked, sounding a bit disappointed. "I'd hoped you would find a way to convince them to let you go."

"Couldn't be helped," Harry said. "Okay, here goes… _Rennervate_!" The Anti-Stunning spell made both Ron and Hermione's bodies shudder as it passed into them. Ron's head came up, then Hermione's, and they both looked around, momentarily confused. Harry silently ended the _Mobilicorpus_ spell on each of them, and their feet settled to the ground.

"Uh… what happened?" Ron asked. "I was asking somebody something…" he looked around, seeing that their surroundings had changed. "Where are we? Harry?"

"We're in Kansas," Harry said. "In America."

Hermione was looking at him blearily. Her eyes widened in surprise. "_America_? Harry, how could we have gotten here? It's thousands of miles away!"

"No time to explain now," Harry said quickly, hoping he could come up with something plausible before they asked again. "For now, this is Clark Kent. He, er, knows about wizards. He's the one who contacted me about the boy he thinks might be a wizard. I wanted you to meet him, and Clark, and see if you agree with me." All of that was untrue, Harry knew, but it was easier than trying to explain the truth to them while avoiding the issue of how he'd gotten his powers.

"Er — hello," Hermione said to Clark. "It's — nice to meet you." Clark shook her hand.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, as they shook hands as well. "Whoever you are."

"I'm a friend of the boy's mother," Clark added. "His names Ricky. He's having a birthday party today, so we'll be able to see him interacting with other boys and girls about his own age. The party begins in —" Clark glanced back at the house for a moment "— about ten minutes, at Lana's house. Mom's going to lend me her truck — it'll be a bit cramped, but we should all be able to fit in it."

Not giving his friends a chance to think about the situation, they all piled into Martha Kent's ancient truck and drove into Smallville. Ron and Hermione, wedged between Harry and Clark in the cab of the truck, were looking around in wonder at the wheat fields, grain silos, and few farmhouses they passed during the drive. Once in town, the truck moved slowly down Smallville's Main Street. People in vehicles passing by would wave or honk, recognizing Clark, and he waved back.

When they arrived at Lana's house, the party was just beginning on the front lawn. A couple of picnic tables had been moved together and covered with paper tablecloth, and an old electric wire spool, turned on its end, held an array of plates, napkins, and plastic cups and silverware. There were more than a dozen kids, both boys and girls, talking or running around the yard. Lana, seeing the truck pull up, waved happily at Clark, then pointed them out to Ricky, who smiled and waved as well, running over to them as Harry and the others were getting out of the truck.

"Hi, Harry!" Ricky said as he stopped in front of him. "Glad you could make it! Mom said she hoped you'd be here!" Ron and Hermione looked at each other, surprised, to hear that remark.

"I'm glad to see you again too, Ricky," Harry smiled. He could hear his two friends whispering to one another.

"_How's he know this kid anyway_?" Ron was whispering to Hermione.

"_He said that Clark Kent fellow contacted him_," Hermione whispered back. "_But how do _they_ know each other_?"

"_Well, he _is_ the Boy-Who-Lived, y'know_," Ron pointed out.

"_Right, but how many wizards in America even know who Voldemort — oh, Ron, _stop that!_ — who _he_ is, anyway_?"

Lana was clapping her hands for silence. "Listen up, everyone! Let's get started! After everyone gets a piece of cake and some ice cream, we have a special guest that's going to come out and entertain us!" She had placed the birthday cake, a large sheet cake that had the words HAPPY 12TH BIRTHDAY, RICKY! written on it in red and blue icing, along with a bunch of hard candy baseballs, white with red stitching, split in half and pressed into the top and sides of the cake. There were twelve candles in the middle of the cake, and Lana quickly lit them with a candle lighter.

The other boys and girls in the party gathered around Ricky, who was watching his mother light the candles with a look of anticipation on his eager, young face. Lana finished lighting the candles, then said, "Alright, everyone sing —" and the group began singing "Happy Birthday," a song Harry, Ron and Hermione, as wizards and a witch from Britain, hadn't heard before. Clark was singing along as well, Harry noticed.

After the song was finished, Ricky took a deep breath and blew out the candles on the cake. They all went out, and everyone applauded, including the three Gryffindors. Lana moved the cake over to where the plates were and began cutting it into slices; another young girl, who looked to be in her late teens, placed scoops of ice cream with the slices and handed them out to the other boys and girls, who took them, along with plastic cups filled with Kool-Aid, to the picnic tables to eat.

Harry, Ron and Hermione fell into line near the end, when all the boys and girls in the party had their cake and ice cream. "Hi, Harry," Lana said, cutting the last few pieces of the cake as he stepped up to get his piece. "Nice of you to come to Ricky's party — I know he's happy to see you again."

"I'm glad to be here," Harry agreed, smiling. "I almost didn't make it."

"Oh, why not?"

"Oh, it's a long story," Harry said, shrugging. Then, to change the subject, he said, "These are my friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"Hi," Lana said, smiling at them. "It was nice of you to come to my son's party." She handed a large slice of cake to the girl helping her. "Harry, this is Ricky's sitter, Sarah."

"Hi, Sarah," Harry said politely as she dropped a scoop of ice cream onto the plate next to his cake. "Nice to meet you."

"Hi, Harry," Sarah smiled shyly at him. "I heard you can catch Ricky's curve ball.

"Uh, yeah, I can," Harry admitted, smiling a bit nervously. _Curve ball_? he heard Ron mutter to Hermione. _What the bloody hell is_ that? Hermione only shrugged.

"You may have to give me a few pointers," Sarah went on, quickly adding scoops to two more plates from Lana and passing them to Ron and Hermione.

"Yeah, we could do that," Harry said, not sure what her interest in catching baseballs was about. Ricky had told him that few girls played baseball in America.

"Thanks!" Ron said, beaming at the cake and ice cream he'd been handed. He and Hermione took their food and moved away, Hermione almost pulling Ron with her.

"_Don't you get it_?" she told him quietly, as Harry listened with his super-hearing. "_That girl fancies Harry_!"

Ron turned and looked at Sarah. Harry had as well — he'd wondered if that's what had been going on, but he didn't know quite what to do about it. Ever since the debacle with Cho Chang he hadn't really thought about girls much — with perhaps one or two exceptions…

Lana was calling for everyone's attention once again. "Now that you've all got cake and ice cream, I'd like to introduce you to someone who's going to show you some very interesting magic —" Harry looked up, startled — _who_ was Lana talking about?

But she was gesturing toward an empty spot on lawn, in front of some shrubs. "Here is the very famous prestidigitator, Professor Marvolo!" There was an explosion of white smoke, and a smiling gentleman stepped out of it, bowing to the applauding boys and girls.

"Good afternoon, young ladies and gentleman!" the man said loudly to the group. "Welcome to Ricky's birthday party! Today you will be surprised and thrilled by my feats of legerdemain! Prepare to be amazed!"

The man was tall and thin, dressed in a formal black suit complete with a top hat, white gloves, and a red-lined black cape, wielding a small black stick with whitened ends. His face, seemingly young, nevertheless had a look of wisdom about it, though that may have been from his long, curled mustache and goatee. Ron, seeing him, suppressed a giggle. "What's funny?" Harry whispered to him.

"He looks like a disguise I saw in a Martin Miggs comic," Ron sniggered. "Martin wanted to dress up like a 'real' wizard — that's what he looked like!"

It was a strange coincidence, Harry thought — he came to see Ricky and find out if they'd been contacted by anyone from an American wizarding school, but instead they got a pretend wizard for entertainment! The name was interesting, too — Professor Mavolo. Harry was starting to wonder if that was a coincidence or not, though. Was it possible this was some sort of trap for him, set by Voldemort?

But as Marvolo launched into his act, Harry began to relax. The man was performing "Muggle magic" — illusions and other tricks that any non-magical could do, given the proper training. Hermione had seen through it as well. "This is like some of those Muggle magic tricks I saw in Fred and George's shop," she whispered to Harry and Ron. "I can see how he's doing them!"

The kids were beginning to see it as well, and becoming bored. "Do some _real_ magic!" one boy yelled. "We don't need this David Copperfield crud!"

"Who's David Copperfield?" Ron asked Harry. Harry just shrugged.

The magician smiled at his audience, twirling his mustache thoughtfully. "You'd like some real magic, would you? Alright, then!" Pulling a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, he showed them both sides of it, then folded it in half twice. He then unfolded it, but as he did so the handkerchief had become the size of a small tablecloth. Harry and Ron looked at one another, mildly impressed. Hermione was intrigued, watching the performer very closely.

Reaching into his coat again, Marvolo produced a steel ring about a foot in diameter. He placed the ring in the middle of the cloth, then held it so the cloth appeared to be covering a round object. Lowering the cloth so it touched the ground, Marvolo released it — the cloth remained standing, as if the ring were holding it up by magic! The audience gasped, and before Harry thought to look beneath the cloth with his X-ray vision, the magician pulled it away, revealing a round magician's table. There was a smattering of applause.

Marvolo took off his top hat, placing it on the table. "Hey kids," he asked the boys and girls there. "Want to see me pull a rabbit out of my hat?"

"No," someone in the back said. Several of the kids laughed.

"Very good!" the magician said, as if no one had spoken. "Now to show you there's nothing up my sleeve…" He tugged on the right cuff of his jacket; the sleeve fell away, revealing — nothing. There was no longer an arm there. A couple of the girls in the audience screamed.

"Whoa!" Ron muttered, surprised. "How'd he _do_ that?"

"Oops," Marvolo laughed. "That's a bit too _much_ gone, isn't it? He took the handkerchief, which had been draped over his left sleeve, and covered up his right side from the shoulder down, then removed it again. His sleeve and arm were now back in place.

"And now — _presto_!" He tapped the edge of his top hat with his magician's wand. Instead of a rabbit, however, a lion's head suddenly popped out of it, roaring at the audience, who screamed in laughter and surprise.

Marvolo looked chagrinned. "Wrong hat!" he said, tapping the lion on the head, making it with go back into the hat. "Let's try that again," he said determinedly, and tapped the hat again. "_Presto_!"

But instead of a rabbit, once again another animal emerged from the hat — this time it was a large, green snake, rising up several feet before Marvolo tapped it with his wand and it dropped back out of view. "Wrong hat again!" one of the kids in the audience yelled.

"I take a seven and a half," Marvolo commented. "Well, let's have another go, shall we? _Presto_!" But once again another animal poked its head out of the hat: this time it was a smaller animal that somewhat resembled a weasel, with black and white markings on its face. It chattered at the audience for a few moments, then disappeared back into the hat. Marvolo shook his head. "No doubt about it, I've got to get another hat!" The boys and girls in the audience were buzzing with laughter and excitement.

"Hmm," Hermione said, softly. "That was a badger…"

But Marvolo was signaling for silence. "_This_ time for sure!" he said, making a large flourish as he pointed his wand and said, "Presto!" once again.

Instead of a rabbit, however, this time an _eagle_ emerged from the hat, spread its wings and flew away as everyone, Marvolo included, watched.

"Ooo, don't know my own strength!" he said, after the bird had flown out of view.

"Was it just a wild coincidence that those four animals represent the four Hogwarts houses?" Ron pointed out quietly.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, just as quietly. "I don't think he's just doing 'Muggle' magic any more — I think he's doing real magic!"

At that moment Marvolo was quieting his audience down in preparation for his next trick. "How about a levitating woman? Would you all like to see that?" Most of the kids, now enthusiastically enjoying the performance, shouted that they would. Marvolo pointed to the tallest girl in the audience, who was Hermione. "You there, young lady — would you come up and assist me?"

"Me?" Hermione looked surprised. "But I'm not —"

"Oh, no need to be shy," the magician persisted. "Come on, there's a good girl.." Persuaded to come forward, Hermione looked both embarrassed and flattered. "And what is your name, my dear?" Marvolo asked.

"It's — er — Hermione Granger," she answered, a bit of trepidation in her voice. A few kids in the audience laughed, and she scowled at them.

"Are you ready to be levitated, Hermione?" Marvolo asked, smiling at her.

"Well, I guess so," Hermione said. She hadn't heard Harry's comment earlier about the magician using real magic — she thought he was going to levitate her using some illusion trick. "Are you, um, sure you can do it?"

"Of course, my dear, of course." Marvolo positioned her so that he and she both side-on to the audience, facing one another. "Just relax, and I'll do all the work." He passed his hand in front of her face a few times; Hermione's expression went blank, and her arms stiffened at her side. Harry and Ron were watching carefully, both tense. As Marvolo gesture toward her, her body began to lean back, and her feet swung into the air. In a few moments she was flat on her back in mid-air, motionless. The audience gasped in collective awe.

Taking a large steel ring from inside his coat (_where had he hidden that_? Harry wondered — _or did he conjure it, somehow_?), Marvolo moved it so it passed completely around Hermione, still suspended in mid-air. "As you can see," he told the audience, "she is floating with no means of support. Now to bring her back to normal." Placing his hand a few inches above her head, Marvolo brought her vertical again, her feet finally touching ground, then snapped his fingers in front of her. After a few moments Hermione blinked, looking confused.

"When are you going to do it?" she asked, making the kids laugh.

"Thank you, my dear," Marvolo said graciously. "Let's give her a big hand, everyone," he added, applauding her while the boys and girls in the audience chimed in as well, to her vast confusion as she walked back to Harry and Ron.

"What did he do?" she whispered as she reached them.

"He made you float in mid-air, it was brilliant!" Ron told her.

"I don't remember anything except him waving his hand in front of me," Hermione said, frowning.

"He hypnotized you, or something," Harry told her. "I think he's using real magic."

"But he was just doing simple Muggle magic tricks earlier," Hermione objected. "Why would he bother with those if he could do real magic?"

"Why did his hat produce a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle?" Harry asked. "I think he knows who we are, or at least suspects."

"Now what?" Ron muttered, as Marvolo held up his hand for silence; the kids in the audience had been calling for even bigger tricks.

"You'll all get a chance to participate in my last illusion," he told them, walking around to stand next to a small trunk that had been sitting in the background. The trunk was roughly the size of the ones Harry and others used to store their possessions at Hogwarts. He stared at it for a moment. "Of course, I think we'll need a bigger trunk than this one."

So saying, he tapped the trunk with his wand; it promptly opened up, and Marvolo reached down and pulled another trunk out of it, setting it on the ground beside the first one. Harry frowned, seeing them side-by-side — the second trunk, somehow, was _larger_ than the first. Marvolo repeated this several time, pulling larger and larger trunks out of each successive one until the last one was the size of a small wardrobe. This clinched it for Harry — the man _must_ be a wizard, not just a stage magician.

"All right," Marvolo said, turning to the boys and girls in the audience. "Who'd like to volunteer to help?" Everyone put up their hand. "Very good!" the magician beamed. "That's just the number of volunteers I need! Alright everyone, line up in front of this trunk, please." He pointed his wand at the trunk, which tipped up on its end — the lid swung open, revealing a black interior that was impossible to penetrate. Harry tried to glance inside with his X-ray vision, but there seemed to be nothing inside to see, not even the interior of the trunk was visible to his gaze. "Let's see how many of you can fit inside," Marvolo said and, laughing and giggling, the boys and girls in the audience began filing inside.

After the first three or four has passed inside, it became obvious the trunk was some kind of vanishing cabinet. When Ricky, one of the last in line, started to go inside, Marvolo took him by the arm, saying, "Hold on a moment, birthday boy. I want you to help me with the rest of the trick." When the last person had passed into the trunk, including Sarah, over a dozen kids were "inside" it, by Harry's count. He, Ron and Hermione had not gotten into line. Marvolo tapped the trunk once again; the lid closed and the trunk tipped back onto its bottom. "Now, let's gather up these other trunks," the magician said to Ricky, pointing to the other trunks scattered across the yard. He had Ricky take the first trunk (the smallest one) and place it inside the next larger one, then place that trunk in the next larger one, and so on, until there were only two trunks left. He then tapped the largest trunk with his wand and the lid sprang open. Ricky and Marvolo picked up the smaller trunk, placing it inside the larger one, and closed the lid.

"Well, that's that," Marvolo said, smiling at Ricky. "Now we can get down to business."

Harry stepped forward. "Wait a minute," he objected. "What happened to all those kids, what did you do to them?"

"Nothing," Marvolo said, taking off his top hat and dropping the wand into it. The wand disappeared from view. "I just sent each of them to their home." He pulled off the white gloves and tossed them into the hat as well.

"How could you have sent them home?" Clark asked, speaking for the first time since the show started. He'd been watching the entire performance very carefully as well. "That wouldn't be possible."

"You'd be surprised what's possible, Mr. Kent," Marvolo replied, replacing the top hat on his head. At Clark's look of surprise he added, "Oh yes, I know who you are. I've known you since you were this tall." He held out a hand, waist high.

"You know me?" Clark asked. "How?"

Marvolo waved a hand at the house behind them. "I visited here quite often when you were little; you used to play out here in the front yard with Lana, when you were both children."

Lana looked dumbfounded. "What are you saying? You're even younger than me or Clark!"

Marvolo chuckled. "Well, 'Professor Marvolo' looks quite young, 'tis true, but in reality I'm a bit older than he is. Marvolo spun around once, slowly. As he did so, his face and clothing suddenly changed appearance. He now appeared to be an old man, white-haired and balding on top, with thick, round glasses like Harry's. His mustache and goatee had disappeared as well. He was dressed in academics robes — his top hat had become an academics cap, with a black tassel hanging from one side. "Here's what I really look like." He smiled at Lana. "Do you recognize me, my dear?"

"Oh my gosh!" Lana exclaimed. "You're my uncle, Phineas Potter!"


	7. Enrolled

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Seven  
****Enrolled**

_Updated 13 August 2010_

Professor Potter gave his niece a small bow. "At your service, my dear." He stood, smiling at her and Ricky. "And at your son's service as well. He is the real reason why I'm here today."

Lana shook her head, confused. "I — I don't understand. Uncle Phineas, where have you _been_ all these years? It's been…I don't know how long since I've last seen you! Since I was a little girl, at least."

Professor Potter looked apologetic. "Yes, Lana, I am sorry I haven't come around to visit you, but I've been busy — oh yes, quite busy indeed!" He held out a hand toward her, thumb and index finger together as if they held something, though there was nothing there. "My card," he said, as if presenting her with one.

Lana shook her head. "I don't see anything," she told him.

"Oh — sorry!" he chuckled, passing his other hand over the first one. A card appeared between his fingers. "Forgot to materialize it! Here you are, dear."

Lana took the card, looking a bit apprehensive, and read it. Behind her, Harry, Ron and Hermione all craned their necks to see what it said.

_Potter's Field Magical Academy_  
_An Institution of Magical Education  
__Est. 1825_

_Professor Phineas Potter, Dean of the Academy_

_Accredited with the American Dept. of Magic_  
_Located in Montana, U.S.A._

"'Potter's Field'?" Lana looked up at her uncle. "Why would you name it something like _that_? You say this is _your_ school."

"Ah — well, I'm the current Dean," Professor Potter explained. "The name is just a coincidence — the school was originally called the 'Sarcozy Academy of Wizardry,' after its founder, Graham Sarcozy. But it was widely called 'Potter's Field Academy' because its original location was in a potter's field."

"A school for magic in America!" Hermione said, looking round at Harry and Ron. "I've always wondered about how they worked over here!"

"Oh, there are several schools of magic in America, my dear," the professor informed her. "The Salem Institute and the New York College of Wizardry are two more, just to name a few."

Ron was looking around nervously. "Er — should we be discussing things like this out in the open? I mean, there are wizarding laws about secrecy, you know."

Both Hermione and Harry looked quizzically at Ron — he had never been concerned about such things before.

The professor was smiling benignly. "Don't concern yourself about that, young man. Before the show, I set up wards and protection spells to keep anyone other than the audience from hearing what we're saying or allowing anyone who wasn't invited here to approach. We're perfectly safe, and within international magical secrecy guidelines."

"Wait a minute," Lana interrupted, an expression of incredulity on her face. "Is what this young lady said earlier _true_? You can do _real_ magic?"

"Of course, my dear," her uncle clasped the lapels of his academician's robe, unconsciously striking a lecturing posture. "I worked on several very sensitive projects during the Second World War, and afterwards I was a top researcher for the government until I retired, thirty years ago, and accepted the position as Dean of the Academy. That was right around the time your aunt died." His eyes became a bit misty. "I confess, I thought of coming back to see you, but decided it would bring back too many memories of my dear late wife, Phyllis.

"So now, after all these years," Lana wanted to know, "_why_ are you telling me this?"

"Why, for your son Ricky's sake, of course," Professor Potter replied, beaming at Ricky, who smiled back, beginning to get an idea of what was going on. "I am certain that you and your husband will want Ricky to have the best education possible, now that he's of age to attend the Magical Academy."

"We're divorced," Lana said, shortly. "Anyway, all he cares about is whether Ricky plays baseball — he wants him to go to the major leagues."

The old wizard looked vaguely disappointed. "Is that what _you_ want for him, Lana?"

"I want Ricky to do whatever he thinks he can do best," Lana responded, looking nettled by the question. "It's not a question of what I want or what Ricky's dad wants —"

"Did someone mention me?" Everyone turned toward the sound of the new voice coming from the street, where an old model sports car had just rolled up, its top down, with a single occupant in the driver's seat. The driver, a lean, sandy-haired man with circles under his eyes and what seemed like a perpetual sneer on his face, jumped up onto the passenger seat then vaulted over the side of the car and landed easily on the lawn, then walked toward them.

"Dad!" Ricky said. "You made it!" He ran toward the man.

"Hey there, sport," his dad said, tousling his son's hair as Ricky hugged him. "I wasn't going to miss your birthday this year. _Especially_ since I got this letter from your mom's uncle," he added, holding up an envelope as he joined the others. "Hi, Lana," he said to her, trying to sound suave. "How's it goin', babe?"

"Fine," Lana replied, in a clipped voice. "How are you, Brad?"

Brad grinned. "Just peachy, babe," he replied.

"Brad?" Clark said, a tone of surprise in his voice. "Brad Dolan?"

"That's my name, Kent, don't wear it out," Brad said, his sneer now in full evidence. "Yeah, I recognized you. Been a few years, ain't it?"

"Yes," Clark agreed. "It's — good to see you again, Brad." He held out his hand toward Brad.

Brad snorted. "Yeah, sure," he said. He made no move to shake Clark's hand. It was obvious from his attitude the feeling wasn't mutual. "So what are _you_ doin' here, Kent?"

"I invited him," Lana put in, quickly. "Clark's just returned from… traveling… for several years, and I wanted a chance to catch up with him."

"Travelin', huh?" Brad said, looking Clark up and down. Harry, who'd remained silent since Professor Potter had revealed himself, had been sizing up both the professor and this new arrival, Ricky's father. While he liked Professor Potter (and like Hermione, he was intrigued by the idea of an American school of magic), this Brad Dolan fellow seemed a weedy sort. Harry wondered why he was even here, since he'd gathered from conversation with Ricky that his father rarely had time for him. "So where you been traveling to, Kent?"

"Oh, around," Clark answered vaguely.

"Never mind that," Lana cut over the conversation, irritated. "Let's get back to Ricky. What, exactly, are you saying about him?" she asked her uncle.

"That he's a wizard," Professor Potter stated.

"I'm a wizard?" Ricky echoed, looking awed. "A real _wizard_?"

Harry was trying to watch everyone at once, to see their reactions. Ricky looked at his mother, excitement lighting up his eyes. Lana had the look of a startled deer on her face — her eyes seemed to be as large as an owl's. Brad, Ricky's father, was looking at his son with a calculating expression, rubbing his chin. Ron and Hermione had turned to one another, both with broad smiles on their faces.

And Clark? Clark was doing the same thing Harry was, watching everyone's expression, including Harry's. Their eyes locked for a moment, at superspeed, and Harry knew that Clark had concerns about the situation. What, exactly, those concerns were he couldn't be quite sure, but if Clark was thinking along the same lines as Harry, then he was wondering why Ricky's father had shown up just when Ricky discovered he had magical powers. Maybe Harry could ask some questions that would bring answers for those reservations.

Harry stepped forward, offering his hand to the elderly wizard. "Professor, I'm Harry Potter."

"Ah! Harry! Delighted to finally meet you!" Professor Potter said, shaking Harry's hand vigorously. "Yes, delighted! You've probably surmised by now that I realized who you and your friends are."

"Yes," Harry nodded, looking back at Ron and Hermione, who stepped forward to stand next to him. "These are my friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"Delighted to meet you both, just delighted," the professor beamed as he shook each of their hands. "I must say, I've heard more than a little about you as well, Miss Granger."

"Me?" Hermione looked startled. "How would you know about _me_, sir?"

"Oh, Minerva is always going on and on about you," Professor Potter told her. "The smartest witch in the school in a hundred years — why, I heard that you got nine 'Outstandings' on your O.W.L.s this past term, and an 'Exceeds Expectations' on the tenth. Which one was that in, by the way?"

"Uh — Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said, looking uncertainly at Harry.

"Where would _you_ have met Professor McGonagall?" Ron asked, feeling a bit left out from all of the attention being shown to Harry and Hermione. "I didn't think she _ever_ left the school, unless it was to go into Hogsmeade for a gillywater."

"Oh my, no, young fellow!" Professor Potter laughed heartily. "We attend a number of international conferences every year together. That is to say," he added hastily, as Ron lifted an eyebrow at him, Hermione hid a smile behind her hand, and Harry grinned impishly, "we both attend the conferences, but not _together_ together, if you know what I mean."

"Ahem." They turned to see Lana staring at them, hands on her hips in an impatient stance. "Can we get back to answering _my_ questions, please?"

"Of course, my dear, of course!" Professor Potter agreed amiably, then looked confused for a moment. "Eh, what _are_ your questions, Lana?"

Lana sighed. "What do you mean when you say Ricky's a _wizard_?"

"Simply, my dear, that he has shown an ability to manipulate magical forces," Professor Potter explained. "In this case, it is due to certain genetic traits that Ricky inherited from your side of the family, combined with traits from his father's side, that gives him this ability."

"So you mean I could do tricks like you did?" Ricky asked him, excitedly.

"Yes," the professor nodded, "With practice, that is. Oh yes, a _lot_ of practice, my boy! But that's what my school will give you — an opportunity to hone your abilities and extend them as far as you are able. By the time you graduate you will be able to do things you never thought possible before!"

Ricky spun around to face his mother. "Can I go there, Mom? Please?"

"Uh — well…" Lana looked completely lost, torn between her son's enthusiasm for the idea and her complete lack of knowledge about real magic. "Um, how is it that neither Brad's father nor I have any of this — this magical ability, but Ricky does?"

Harry was about to answer, but Hermione spoke first. "Ms. Lang, sometimes non-magical parents can have a child that shows magical ability. I'm Muggle-born — both of my parents are Muggles. That is, they have no magical ability. But I do," Hermione explained.

"And my mother was Muggle-born," Harry added, "although my aunt, her sister, didn't have any magical ability."

"My cousin Malfalda —" Ron began, but Ricky was speaking excitedly again.

"So I can go, then, huh Mom? _Please_?"

Harry spoke again. "Ms. Lang, when I was visiting on the Kent farm a few weeks ago, I noticed that Ricky seemed to have magical abilities —"

"You _did_?" Lana seemed surprised by this information. "Why — why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Well, it's not the kind of thing you can just _tell_ someone," Harry explained. "My relatives weren't very happy when they found out I had magical ability — they did everything they could to keep me from going to Hogwarts — the school that we attend," he added, gesturing to Ron, Hermione, and himself. "I brought my two friends along with me to Ricky's birthday party to see if they agreed with me, that Ricky has magical ability." He looked at Professor Potter. "But it seems like the professor here already knew about him."

"Oh yes, indeed," Professor Potter agreed. "I've been watching Ricky for some time now, waiting for him to reach the age of eligibility for the school, so I could invite him to attend."

"Mighty generous of you, Perfesser," Brad Dolan cut in. "T'give these lessons to Ricky, you know."

The professor looked blankly at Dolan for a moment, then realized what he was saying. "Oh, attendance at the school isn't for _free_, Mr. Dolan. Oh my, no."

"Whaddaya mean, it ain't free?" Dolan looked suspicious. "What are you tryin' to pull here, dude?"

"Nothing inappropriate, I assure you, Mr. Dolan!" Professor Potter looked offended at the implication that he might not be on the up-and-up. "The Academy also offers the equivalent of a normal secondary education — by the time your son graduates, he will have a high school diploma from the state of Montana and be qualified to attend any college or university in the country, if he so chooses. The tuition fees I charge are used to maintain accreditation with the state Board of Education."

Lana swallowed. "How — how much is the tuition, Uncle Phineas?"

"Only two thousand dollars per year, for the six-year program," her uncle replied, as if that amount were a mere pittance. "I have kept it there for the past ten years — with any luck I won't need to increase it for another ten!"

But Lana was shaking her head. "I — I can't afford that," she said. "I'm barely getting Ricky through public school now." She looked at Brad. "Unless _you_ plan to do something to help…"

"Wish I could help, babe," Brad shrugged. "But I'm tapped — I'm barely making enough to stay in my apartment in Concordia."

"I can help," Clark said. Both Lana and Brad turned toward him — Brad with a scowl, Lana with surprise, then a cautious smile. "I have a little extra money left over from my, uh, traveling that you can have."

"Oh, Clark," Lana said, shaking her head. "Won't you need that money to get reestablished after your trip?"

Clark shrugged. "I've got enough saved it won't be a problem."

"That's really _generous_ of you, Kent," Brad drawled, "but the Dolans don't take charity from nobody!" Clearly, he wasn't happy with the idea that Clark Kent would be paying for his son's education, even if he couldn't (or _wouldn't_, Harry added to himself).

Ricky looked profoundly unhappy; he was plainly disappointed his father had quashed his chances of going to magical school, until his mother took a deep breath and said, "But we _Langs_ do know how to make a deal. Clark, if we can borrow the money from you, I swear I'll pay you back." She put out her hand, for Clark to shake.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Clark said vaguely, smiling. He took her hand and they shook, once.

"Cool!" Ricky said, jumping into the air with excitement. "I'm going to be a wizard!" He looked at Harry. "Hey Harry! Are you gonna go to school with me?"

"Sorry, Ricky," Harry shook his head, smiling sadly. "But I've got another school to attend…" his voice trailed off.

"I'd love to show you the place," Professor Potter told him. He looked at Hermione. "And you as well, Miss Granger." When Ron got a hurt look on his face, the professor clapped him genially on the shoulder. "In fact, I'd like all three of you to see the place! I think you'll find it quite a change from Hogwarts!"

"Have you ever been to Hogwarts, Professor?" Harry asked him, interested.

"Yes, oh yes," Professor Potter nodded. "It was quite a few years ago — I had some business to discuss with Dumbledore. Some students of his transferred from Hogwarts to my school, and we had to arrange the transfer of tuition. As I recall, he was a little put out with me over that — accused me of stealing his students, actually! — but I believe they simply preferred the American method of magic to the British-European method."

"What are the differences, Professor?" Hermione asked, curiously.

"Well, it's — oh, perhaps you should come have a look for yourself, my dear," Potter suggested. "We can just pop over there for a few minutes and come right back — and I can show Ricky some of the highlights of the school."

Hermione looked hopefully at Harry and Ron. "What do you think?" she asked, eagerly, clearly wanting to see the place.

Ron looked at Harry; at the same time they both shrugged. "I'm game," Ron said.

"Me, too," Harry added.

"Splendid!" Potter beamed. "I'll just pack my things —" he waved a hand at his trunk and other magical paraphernalia laying about the lawn; the trunk opened as the magician's table hopped inside it, and the party decorations streamed into the trunk, which then shut with a loud _thump_. It continued to "shut," seeming to fold in on itself, becoming smaller and smaller until it was no larger than a domino. It then floated into the air and into Professor Potter's hand, who stuck it into one of his pockets.

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione asked, her curiosity burning once again. "But we've seen you do quite a bit of magic without using a wand. Don't you have one?"

"Oh no, no, no," the professor demurred, shaking his white-haired head. "We rarely use them over here. With proper training, a good magical practitioner shouldn't need one."

"That seem incredible," Hermione said, impressed. "We're required to use one from the first day we begin learning magic."

"Mmmm," Potter shook his head. "I know — the Wizengamot has had that law on its books almost from the inception of the Ministry itself — since the early 1700's." He sounded disapproving. "In my opinion, too much wand use makes a wizard overly dependent on it. "Well, we'd better get a move on," he decided, glancing at a watch on his left wrist. "It's nearly five p.m now — even later in England! — and I'd like to get all of you back home soon."

"How are we going to get there?" Hermione asked. "None of us are old enough to Apparate yet, even if we knew how."

"Oh my goodness," Professor Potter shook his head, looking queasy. "I'm afraid I'm too old to Apparate any more, my dear — it gives me a splitting headache!"

"How do we get there, then?" Harry asked. "A Portkey? Floo? A magic carpet?" But Professor Potter was smiling and shaking his head.

"There's only five of us," he said, looking at Ricky and the three Gryffindors. "I can easily —"

"Wait!" Harry said suddenly, and Professor Potter jumped as if startled. "Sorry, Professor, but before we go, I need a word with Clark." He gestured to Clark and the pair of them moved away, several yards from the others. Harry reached into his pocket and handed Clark a Galleon.

"What's this for?" Clark asked. "I can't use this around here anyway, Harry—"

"I know," Harry said, quietly. "But it's not just a Galleon. You can tap it with your wand and speak short sentences over it, and it will display the words you spoke on another Galleon I've got in my pocket. I can do the same with mine. If I get a chance I'll send you a message from Montana, while we're there."

Clark was looking at the coin carefully. "Alright," he said. "But I don't have my wand, you know."

"Oh yeah — I didn't think of that," Harry said, chagrinned. "Well, you may not be able to reply but I'll at least know when I get back whether the coin can communicate that far." He looked at the others waiting for him to rejoin them. "I'll see you soon, Clark."

"Bye, Harry," Clark said. "Have a good time checking out the Academy."

Harry rejoined the group. "Ready?" the professor asked him. Harry nodded.

"You're not going to believe this, Harry," Hermione said excitedly, as the professor took a deep breath. "We're going to —"

There was a sudden flash, and even Harry was dazzled as their surroundings seemed to spin and blur. Even with his super-enhanced senses, however, Harry experienced only a momentary disorientation before they found themselves inside a darkened room. "— uh, Teleport," Hermione finished her sentence.

Harry glanced at his companions; Hermione and Ron were looking around, trying to distinguish anything in the surrounding darkness, while Ricky was looking around in rapt wonder. He saw Professor Potter look up, then clap his hands twice. The lights came on in the room, revealing a spacious foyer. Along one wall was a trophy case filled with various achievement awards from the American Magical Education Society and the Department of Magic, as well as several trophies for various magical competitions such as Best in Abjuration, 1989 or First Place, Primal Spellcasting, 1992.

"Well, here we are," Professor Potter told them. "Potter's Field Magical Academy. It's not a very large school — no, not nearly as large as Hogwarts, but I find a smaller building makes for a cozier setting." He pointed to the front doors of the foyer. "Let me show you what it looks like outside."

They followed him through the double doors, into an open area filled with trees, rows of flowers and bushes, and several unobtrusive stone benches arranged in a roughly circular pattern. "This is the outdoor commons," he told them. "Students can gather here to study, to talk, or do whatever they wish."

"It is quite beautiful, Professor," Hermione remarked, and he beamed at her. "Do you have any protections on the grounds, to prevent Muggles from getting too close?"

"Yes, my dear," Potter nodded. "But we call them 'Mundanes' — here in America, 'Muggle' is considered a mildly derogatory term, even among wizards. There are protective wards extending approximately one mile in all directions from the school itself. We keep the grounds warm through magical means, allowing us to enjoy a longer fall and spring periods, though I do enjoy a white Christmas myself."

They walked back inside the school. "Let me show you one of the classrooms first," Potter decided, leading the way into a room that seemed rather mundane itself, with a large wooden teacher's desk at the front of the room and several rows of old-fashioned wooden desks and chairs.

"What's taught in here, Professor?" Hermione asked, looking around the room. Harry was looking as well; there were several Latin phrases that had been almost completely erased from the blackboard, but his super-eyes picked them out.

"This is the Conjuration home room," Potter told her. "I should probably explain that in America, and especially here at Potter's Field, we tend to teach magic differently than is done at schools like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons."

"How can it be different?" Ron asked, looking perplexed. "Magic is magic, innit?"

Professor Potter smiled, nodding. "Yes, you're correct, Ronald. Magic is magic. But we do emphasize more types of magic here than your Hogwarts teachers do. We call them _schools_ of magic, such as Conjuration, along with Alteration or Transmutation, and Divination."

"Divination?" Hermione looked a bit disappointed. "I gave up that class a few years ago — it just wasn't what I expected of it." Harry and Ron looked at one other; they'd continued on, because it had seemed like an easy O.W.L., but they had both failed it.

"You'll find it's quite different than what you experienced at Hogwarts, my dear," Potter told her. "Oh my, yes, quite different, indeed! Sybill Trelawney is quite an interesting woman, and she has flashes of Seeing, but for the most part what she teaches is guesswork and misdirection."

"Yes, _thank_ you!" Hermione said, giving her friends a quick look of vindication. "I couldn't see much use in learning any of that rubbish."

"In America, Divination is much more then reading tea leaves or calculating astrology charts," Potter informed her. "We use it to reveal information, such as discovering long lost secrets or hidden things — in certain situations it can even predict the future."

"What other kinds of magic do you teach here, Professor?" Harry asked, seeing that Ricky was almost too overcome with glee to ask questions on his own.

"Oh, the list goes, Abjurations, Alterations (which we used to call Transmutation, back when I was in school), Conjurations, Divinations, Enchantments, Evocations, Illusions, Necromancy —"

"_Necromancy_?" Ron repeated, sharply. "Isn't that Dark magic?"

"That's the traditional name for the class," Professor Potter nodded. "It deals with both the creation and destruction of life and life force. In your school, most Light necromantic spells are for the healing and restoration of living beings, while Dark spells deal with killing living creature or the creation of undead such as zombies — Inferi to you."

"Seems a bit dodgy anyway, doesn't it?" Ron muttered, not quite convinced Necromancy was a proper subject. He suddenly thought of something important. "How do meals work here, then?"

Hermione stifled a giggle while Harry snorted and looked away for a moment. "What?" Ron asked, looking miffed, as he considered it a perfectly reasonable question. "Ricky's a growing boy, isn't he? It's important to keep properly fed, Mum says."

"A sentiment I quite agree with, oh yes indeed!" Potter emphasized. "We have a full cafeteria staff onsite from mid-August until to mid-June every year; they report to the school at the same time the teaching staff does."

"How much staff do you have, Professor?" Hermione asked. "And about how many students?"

"We have twelve teachers on staff, one for each of the magical schools. I also have three teachers to instruct the students in each of the three kinds of magic: _Arcane_ magic, the magic inherent in certain humans and creatures; _Primal_ magic, which is the magic present in nature itself; and _Incarnum_ magic, magic generated by the soul of a sentient being. Several members of my staff also teach Mundane subjects such as mathematics, biology, science and history, and so on. By the time a students graduates from the Academy, they have a well-rounded education."

Harry looked at Ricky, who was still taking everything in, looking as if he might burst from excitement at any moment. "It looks like a pretty nice place, eh, Ricky?"

"Oh yeah!" Ricky agreed. "I hope Mom lets me attend! Harry, do you think _you_ could come to school here?" Ricky asked breathlessly.

The question surprised Harry. "Uh — I dunno," he said, honestly. "I don't know if I'd be allowed…"

"There would be no problem if your parents signed an agreement to let you attend school here," Professor Potter said. His eyes suddenly widened and he looked apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry! I forgot for a moment that your parents are no longer alive. Well, I'm sure your aunt and uncle could be persuaded to give their permission."

"How do you know about them?" Harry asked, wondering just how much this man, whom he'd never met before today, knew about _him_.

"Oh, Dumbledore has mentioned them to me," Potter replied, airily. "I remember him telling me some years ago, when you first started attending his school, that he was afraid they might not want to cooperate with sending you to Hogwarts, so he sent Hagrid to deliver the letter informing you of your enrollment — he knew Hagrid would not take 'no' for an answer, oh no, indeed!" he finished, beaming at Harry.

Harry looked pensive for several moments. It was quite true that Hagrid found them just after midnight on his eleventh birthday, and it was also true that he hadn't taken kindly to Uncle Vernon's blustering or threats. In fact, he'd taken the rifle Vernon was pointing at him right from his hands and bent the barrel into a knot as easily as Harry might have tied a rope. Now, of course, Harry himself could easily match such a feat. But then, he'd considered it a great stroke of luck that Hagrid had come along to help him get away from the Dursleys. Now, to find out that was exactly what Dumbledore had sent him for…

"Do you think you can do it, Harry?" Ricky asked again excitedly. "Do you think you can come to school here?"

Harry looked at Professor Potter. "Professor, " he asked slowly, "what would I have to do to attend here?"

"It's simple enough," Potter said, producing a sheet of parchment from thin air and handing it to Harry. "I have here a consent form for your parents (or guardians) to sign." He produced another sheet of parchment. "Then you bring the consent form, along with this Application for an American Student Visa, to the Department of Magic's Secretary of Foreign Relations, who will verify with the school you plan to attend that you've enrolled."

"What about the tuition?" Harry remembered. "I think my education at Hogwarts has already been paid for by my parents."

"No doubt," Potter agreed. "But by international wizarding law, the head of a school of magic cannot charge any student for room and board until the beginning of the school year, which is September first in Britain. Here, we begin school the second Monday before Labor Day, in just over a week, and I can arrange a transfer from Hogwarts to Potter's Field if you decide to attend here. In fact, you'll get a bit back on your tuition since the yearly fee at Hogwarts is 500 Galleons per student, which is roughly 2,500 British pounds, or approximately 3,750 American dollars, nearly double the amount you'll pay at Potter's Field. So your last two years at Hogwarts would pay for almost four years here."

"_Harry_," Hermione had been shocked speechless to this point by the conversation Harry and Professor Potter were having. "Are you _really_ considering going here, or are you just having us on?"

"Well," Harry said, thinking aloud. "It would be one way of getting away from Voldemort's for a while and letting the Order and the Ministry sort out the problem themselves, instead of expecting me to do it."

"Come on, Harry," Ron objected. "Nobody's expecting you to —"

"Yes they are, Ron," Harry cut over him. "I've gone back and looked through all the _Prophets_, back to the beginning of summer, and it's full of references to me as 'the Chosen One,' the only person who can rid the world of Voldemort! And if Professor Dumbledore's wanting to give me 'private lessons' this year, it's got to be because he wants to train me to take care of the problem, especially now since —"

"Since what, Harry?" Hermione asked, as Harry suddenly cut himself off.

"Er — since the _Prophet_ started calling me 'the Chosen One,'" Harry finished, though he'd been thinking something else entirely.

Ron was looking around the place thoughtfully. "Would be a bit of a laugh, you know," he said, grinning at Harry. When Hermione glared at him, however, he added, "But it's completely barking, Harry — you can't just up and leave Hogwarts without at least discussing it with Dumbledore!"

Harry folded his arms across his chest, looking obstinate. "I dunno why not — he didn't discuss me going _there_ in the first place."

"But you _wanted_ to go to Hogwarts, once you found out about it!" Hermione cried, stamping a foot in anger.

"And what if I want to go _here_ now?" Harry retorted. "What's so different about that? Even _you_ were thinking about it, Hermione," he pointed out. "I saw how excited you got when you heard there were other types of magic to study, including magic _without_ a wand. You have to admit, it could come in handy if we didn't have to carry wands around any more!"

Hermione looked torn. "I — I suppose," she admitted. "But, I just don't know if my parents will let me come here, this far from home and everyone…"

"None of us will know unless we ask," Harry pointed out, reasonably. "Personally, I think my aunt and uncle would be thrilled if I ended up out of England."

"Mum and Dad certainly couldn't argue with saving a load of Galleons," Ron was musing. "And if we persuaded Ginny to come as well, that would be _twice_ as much money saved!"

Harry nodded, then turned to Professor Potter. "I think I'd like to attend school here, Professor," he told him.

"Excellent!" Ricky shouted. "It'll be so cool!"

"Splendid, splendid!" Professor Potter beamed. He reached through the lapel of his robe, into a vest pocket, and produced three large manila folders that were clearly too big to have fit there without magic. "Here are your admission packets—each one has a consent form for your parents to sign, along with the agreement for the payment of two thousand dollars per year. Have them sign where the X's are on the forms, then place the forms back in this folder and tap this —" he pointed to a small stamp in the upper right corner of the envelope; Harry read the words on it which said, _First Class Magical Postage_. "That will transport it immediately to my desk, and I will make the necessary arrangements with the Department of Magic." He shook Harry's hand. "I think you'll find it a quite interesting here, Harry." He shook Hermione and Ron's hands as well; both of them, especially Hermione, were looking a bit dazed with how rapidly things had progressed since they'd arrived here.

The professor clapped Ricky on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way, then offered him his hand to shake. "As for you, young man — welcome to Potter's Field as well! I'll make the necessary arrangements with your mother and father." Ricky nodded and shook the elder wizard's hand eagerly. "All right, then," he continued, looking around at the four of them. "Are we ready to go back to join the others and give them the good news?" They all nodded. "Excellent! Let's get in a circle, then — it'll be easier to Teleport us all at once that way."

As they arranged themselves, Harry reflected on what he'd just done. Dumbledore was bound to be unhappy with his decision, but… if the American way of doing magic was better than the British method, then Harry would be doing himself, and perhaps the world, a disservice if he didn't try to become the best wizard he was capable of being. This school might also be something that Clark, now having magical abilities as well, could benefit from. His attention shifted back to Professor Potter as the elderly wizard announced, "Here we go!" and they disappeared in a flash of light.

=ooo=

Things were definitely looking up for Lex Luthor these days.

Three years ago he'd been released from prison on a technicality, after spending nearly two years on the inside, waiting as the justice system slowly ground to its inevitable conclusion. Luthor had been fortunate in jail — he'd kept his wits about him, associated with the right people on the inside, who protected him from the few there who'd had grudges against him for one reason or another. It was surprising, really, how many guys on the inside knew someone who'd died in the earthquakes that had occurred when he'd tried to separate the western United States from the rest of the country along the San Andreas fault. He'd cultivated some friendships among the prison staff as well — being able to answer questions on a wide variety of subjects made him a source of knowledge to both inmates and guards. And to a certain nurse in the infirmary, one Katherine "Kitty" Kowalski, who fell in love (or, Luthor smiled to himself, at least in lust) with him. It was she who helped him smuggle out letters to Gertrude Vanderworth after she'd written him once expressing admiration for his intelligence, a trait the old crone greatly admired.

Once he'd impressed Vanderworth with his intelligence and his "sincere respect" for her belief in his basic good nature (Lex smiled once again, remembering the quote from Jean Giraudoux: "The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that you've got it made") it was easy enough to insinuate himself into her life, win her heart, and marry her in a whirlwind romance despite the decades of difference in their ages.

After that, he devoted his time to caring for her when he had to, in the meantime planning his takeover of her family's fortune. Kitty quit her job at the prison to become her personal nurse, at Lex's suggestion. As the friends he'd made in prison — Brutus, Stanford, Riley, and Grant — were released on probation or for time served, he'd recruited them to his personal team of "security experts" — men who would go out and take care of details for him. After leaving prison with nothing more than the clothes on his back, in three years Luthor had conned his way to becoming one of the richest men in the United States.

And now, he was on the verge of becoming the most powerful man in the world.

In just a few weeks the image of Jor-El, Superman's father, had taught Luthor nearly everything he needed to know about how the crystals and Fortress worked. Luthor stood before the massive console, his hands moving expertly over the crystals projecting from its surface. He was having the crystals pull in transmissions from all over the world, looking for something…interesting.

Stanford walked up behind him and began to say something, but stopped, fascinated by the multiple displays now showing in front of the crystal column where they had first seen the image of Jor-El. After several seconds, without turning around, Luthor asked, "What is it?"

Stanford was silent for several seconds, still watching the dozens of images flickering in front of him. Then, "Oh — uh, we picked up some radio chatter about the helicopter, they —"

"They found it. I heard," Luthor interrupted. "No survivors." Yesterday Luthor had been testing the extent of the Fortress's power. He'd taken over the controls of a Russian helicopter flying from Bellingshausen Station, on King George Island, to the Novolazarevskaya Station in Queen Maud Land. The crew, not knowing what was happening, had tried to broadcast a mayday to Novolazarevskaya, but Luthor jammed their radio signal. With the helicopter's controls locked, the aircraft crashed into the frozen mountains several hundred miles from the station. Luthor had been quite impressed with the capabilities of the Fortress — with access to technology like this, he could control transportation anywhere on the globe!

"How's the kryptonite project coming along?" Luthor asked, finally looking at Stanford. The Indian-American had a weird smile on his face. Luthor stared at him for several seconds, waiting, then said, with some impatience, "Well?"

"Ready," Stanford nodded, still grinning. "We were able to reform the chunk into twelve cylinders, then replaced the crystals at the twelve locations you indicated, boss. We even had enough left over for this —" he held out a blade-shaped object, and Luthor took it, examining it carefully. It was a short, pointed length of the kryptonite, about five inches long, with a ridge about two inches from one end. "What do you think?" Stanford asked him.

"For me?" he asked, sounding genuinely touched by the gesture. "You shouldn't have…" One of the first things Luthor had learned in the joint was: never leave yourself defenseless. Not content with a sharpened metal strip or a sock filled with gravel or sand, he'd had Kitty smuggle in a piece of tempered steel, which a machinist doing time for moonlighting as a convenience store robber had milled into a shiv for him, in exchange for a couple of cartons of cigarettes. Luthor had hollowed out a hiding place in a copy of Steinbeck's _Of Mice and Men_. He'd never needed to use it, though, and that book was probably now back in the prison library. "Thanks," he said, and slipped the shiv into his pocket.

He started to turn back to the console, but remembered another question. "What did you come up with on that broom?"

Stanford shrugged. "Nothing. There's no such thing as a broom named the 'Firebolt.' No one on the internet knows squat about it."

"Curious," Luthor murmured. "I can't imagine Superman why would need a broom in his spacecraft."

"Maybe it's not his?" Stanford guessed, shrugging again.

"Then whose would it be?" Luthor inquired, skeptically. Stanford had no answer for this and simply shrugged once more. Tired of the conversation, Luthor turned back to the console, looking for something interesting going on in the world, something he could make a statement with… but Stanford hadn't left. "Is there something else?" he asked, impatiently.

"Miss Kowalski wants to know when we're going home," Stanford said, not looking pleased to have to give him the message. He seriously did not like getting involved in the boss's and his girlfriend's tiffs. "She says she's getting bored."

Luthor rolled his eyes. "Tell her to go eat a bowl of grapes," he said, dismissively.

"That's another thing," Stanford pointed out. "We're getting low on supplies. We're going to have to head back within a week. Unless you can get this place —" he waved a hand toward the crystalline walls "— to come up with some grub for us."

"I'm working on it," Luthor said, turning back to the console. The truth was, of course, that he'd paid almost no attention to food, or sleep, for the past three weeks; he'd wanted to spend as much time as possible soaking up every bit of knowledge that Jor-El's image would give him. He'd eaten his rations without tasting them as he continued to stand at the console, manipulating them, learning to make them do his bidding. Food had never even been on the radar until now.

"I'm going to need something very visible, very obvious," he muttered to himself, watching the world's images flashing by in front of him. "Something that will make the planet sit up and take notice…" A flash of white caught his attention, and Luthor isolated the image, removing the others and increasing the audio.

"… _Genesis_ is now atop the launch platform and awaiting final clearance for takeoff here at Ellington Field," the voiceover commented, as Luthor stared at the shuttle/plane combination. "The mission is now expected to begin at 5:30 Central daylight time, in approximately 15 minutes. The automated countdown sequence will engage, taking the shuttle to 40,000 feet where…"

Luthor had stopped listening, however, and began ordering the Fortress to perform a complete scan of the shuttle and platform aircraft. Within seconds a complete three-dimensional schematic of both aircraft were floating in front of him. Luthor perused them at leisure, looking for vulnerabilities in the system. After a minute or so he had to admit — NASA built a pretty good space shuttle. And Boeing built a pretty good airliner, there wasn't much he could do to either craft beyond simply taking over the controls and causing another crash. But he wanted to be a bit more subtle this time.

"Lex!" Luthor closed his eyes, giving a mental sigh. Kitty had decided to grace him with her presence one more. She had been avoiding him for the past few days, complaining that he stank. It was probably true; he hadn't bathed (none of them had, in order to conserve potable water, though they could obtain all they wanted right outside the Fortress) in several weeks. "When are we getting out of this place?" she demanded, stepping up right beside him. "I'm going to go insane if I don't get a warm meal and a bath soon! And my hair's a _mess_!"

"Kitty," Luthor said, his tone holding much more patience than he felt, "I have been unlocking the secrets of one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe, and you're worried about your hair? Do you see me worrying about mine?"

Kitty gave him a _what's-to-worry-about?_ smirk. "You know what I mean," he added.

"Well, I don't care," she said, petulantly. "All I know is, I'm cold and dirty and —"

"— hungry?" Luthor supplied, nastily. "And bored, tired, sleep deprived, and about fifteen other things you've complained about. "We'll go when I say," he told her, with finality. "Now, let me think — I need to come up with some way to grab people's attention using the shuttle launch."

Kitty looked over at the holographic display for the first time, seeing the shuttle/platform schematic. A puzzled look came over her face. "Why would they want the shuttle to fly a plane into space?" she asked.

Luthor smiled, amused by her comment. "No, it's —" he stopped, considering what she'd just said. "You know," he mused, "that's not a bad idea." Kitty watched, confused, as Lex turned to the console and began moving his hands across the crystals. The image of the shuttle rotated and expanded until Luthor could clearly see the coupling system that held the shuttle and the airliner together. "If that system failed," he theorized, "and the booster system ignited, both ships would fly into space… it would be quite a catastrophe." Luthor smiled at that thought.

"That's not what's supposed to happen?" Kitty asked.

"No," Luthor said, scratching the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "It's not. But who's to say what might go wrong with a complex piece of machinery such as this…"

Kitty looked at him with an expression of combined doubt and dismay. "You wouldn't really _do_ something like that, would you?"

Luthor looked at her. "You know," he said, after a long pause. "I was just thinking that you should go with Stanford to pick up the helicopter and bring it here— we may want to leave here soon."

"Really, Lex?" Kitty said, relief in her voice. "I can't wait to get back to civilization!" She frowned. "But — why don't you send one of the others with him? I wouldn't be much help to him."

Luthor smiled at her, touching her softly on her cheek. "I just thought, getting out of here for a bit would do you some good — get rid of your cabin feature."

Kitty considered that, then shrugged. "I suppose…"

"Good," Luthor said. "Go get ready. You and Stanford should be back in four days, if you push hard on the snowmobile you can make it back to base camp in three days." He kissed her on the cheek, and patted her rump as she turned to walk away. She gave him a smirk but left without comment.

Stanford, who'd been standing some distance away during their conversation, now stepped next to Luthor. "Thanks a lot, boss."

Luthor just shrugged, grinning. At least that got Kitty out of his hair (well, metaphorically speaking) while he took care of business with the shuttle. By the time she and Stanford returned with the helicopter, it would be all over. And Luthor would be writing his own ticket in the world.

=ooo=

"Alright, hold it! Just hold on a moment!" Mr. Weasley shouted, trying to restore order in his home. Every one of the Weasleys there — his wife Molly, Ron, and Ginny — were shouting at one another as Harry, Hermione, and the old American wizard Arthur knew of vaguely, from comments made by other Order members, looked on with varying amounts of surprise, anxiety, or amusement. "QUIET!" he finally roared, all patience gone, and everyone fell silent, looking at him in surprise.

"Now let me get this straight," Arthur went on, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to sort out the situation. He looked at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Instead of being up in your rooms, asleep, the three of you have just come back from _America_, where you attended the birthday party for a boy who's just found out today that he's a wizard — and now you all want to attend _that_ school instead of Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said, speaking for all of them. He hadn't been too sure about Professor Potter's suggestion, after dropping Ricky off back at his home in Smallville, that they visit each set of parents (or in his case, his aunt and uncle) in turn (being six hours later in England it was now coming up on midnight here), but it did seem better to convince them that they all wanted to go — though Ginny had looked stunned at the idea of going to another school; she was very popular at Hogwarts, Harry knew. "We've all been to the school, and —"

"But what about your friends _here_, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley interrupted, looking as furious with him as Harry had ever seen her. "What about Professor Dumbledore, and — and… You-Know-Who?" her voice faltered a bit as she said those last words, as if she realized in that moment what she was asking of him.

"Yeah," Harry retorted, "maybe I should stick around and wait for him to come murder me." _Though it would be a lot harder for him to do it now_, Harry added, to himself.

"That's not what I meant," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, her tone softening. "It's just that — we'd miss you, Arthur and Ginny, and me…"

"Maybe _I_ could go too," Ginny said, suddenly. Mrs. Weasley jerked as if slapped. "Well, if Ron gets to go, why can't I?" she added, stung by her mother's reaction.

"You have your O.W.L.s this year!" Mrs. Weasley said, loudly. "You can't go running off to some unknown American school! Who knows what they'll teach you there —"

"Potter's Field has a five-star rating with the International Confederation of Wizards," Professor Potter pointed out. "The same rating as Hogwarts does, I might add. Witches and wizards who graduate from the Academy are as fully qualified as those who from Hogwarts."

"Rubbish," Mrs. Weasley scoffed. She threw the pamphlet Ron had handed her just after they'd arrived at his feet. "You don't even teach proper magic — all this Abjuration and Alteration nonsense, I never heard of such tripe!"

"I assure you, madam," Potter replied, mildly, "that 'tripe,' as you put it, can be much more effective than the spellwork you've learned from Hogwarts."

Mrs. Weasley gave him a condescending look. "Would you like to put your magic where your mouth is?" she challenged him. "How about a wizard's duel?"  
"A duel?" Professor Potter looked taken aback. "Madam, I have no desire —"

"Molly, you can't be serious!" Arthur sputtered disbelievingly.

"I am!" Mrs. Weasley declared. "If this old fraud can beat me in a duel, then Ron and Ginny can go to his school, or any one they want! But if I beat _him_ —" she looked at Ron and Ginny, shaking a finger at them both. "Then he clears off out of here, and I don't want to hear another peep from either of you about attending another school! Is that clear?" Ron and Ginny just nodded, both shocked speechless by their mother's words.

Professor Potter looked unhappy, but shrugged resignedly. "Oh, very well, then, if you insist! Lead the way, if you please." A confused and rather nervous Mr. Weasley led the group through the kitchen and into the night. The yard was spacious enough to accommodate quite a few people; it was normally where the Weasley family ate when there were too many guests for the kitchen to handle.

"Mum's gone mental," Ron whispered to Harry. At the moment Harry couldn't disagree — she hadn't even asked them why any of them wanted to go to Professor Potter's school.

"Harry, can't you do something?" Hermione asked, watching anxiously as Professor Potter and Mrs. Weasley faced each other in the center of the yard. Mrs. Weasley had a determined scowl on her face, while Professor Potter looked almost amused by the proceedings.

Pointing his wand upwards, Arthur sent several white, glowing balls into the air, hovering about twenty feet above them, lighting up the back yard quite well, though the lights cast strange, flickering shadows over all of them.

"Alright, then," Mr. Weasley sighed, looking at both of them with a weary expression, as if convinced there was nothing he could do to stop the duel. "It should go without saying that this duel _will_ not be to the death, or to first blood."

"Indeed not!" Professor Potter agreed. Molly just shook her head once.

"Good." Mr. Weasley seemed relieved they'd agreed to that. He waved his wand again and a glowing white circle appeared on the ground, about forty feet in diameter. "Each of you turn in opposite directions, take five paces, then turn round and bow to your opponent. The duel will begin when I say, 'now.' It ends, and the circle will disappear, when one of you is disarmed or moves outside this circle."

Professor Potter looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose I will need a wand if we are fighting to disarm," he muttered. He pinched the thumb and index finger of each hand together, touching their tips, then drawing them apart. A length of wood appeared between the fingertips, becoming a wand twelve inches in length. "Ready," he said, holding up the wand. Molly looked unimpressed at what she thought must have been a cheap sleight of hand trick, but Harry knew the old professor had not palmed the wand — it had really appeared out of thin air!

Each of them turned and stepped off five paces as Arthur counted. He retreated off to one side as they both faced one another again. Professor Potter bowed deeply, while Molly made a small, mocking curtsey. Mr. Weasley shouted "Go!" and the duel was on.

Molly wasted no time in attacking — she immediately thrust her wand at the professor, shouting "_Expelliarmus_!" but the spell bounced harmlessly off a shield spell he produced. She followed immediately with a silent Banishing Charm, catching the professor and thrusting him toward the edge of the circle. Before he could pass over it, however, Potter vanished, reappearing again within the circle much closer to Molly, between her and Arthur. "You can't _do_ that!" Molly objected, incredulous. "This yard has an Anti-Apparition Jinx on it!"

"I haven't Apparated," Potter replied, smiling at her. "Teleporting is a different type of magic — Anti-Apparition wards are not effective against it." Molly pointed her wand and a bolt of blue energy shot at him, which he easily deflected. She let off several more spells, each one bouncing off a shield or deflected away, before pointing her wand and shouting "_Accio_!" Harry turned, expecting to see the professor dragged toward her, but he did not move from where he was.

"Missed —" he began to say, when the garden gate slammed into his back. He grunted and fell forward, but as Molly prepared to throw another Disarming Charm, ending the duel, Professor Potter fell on and _into_ the ground, disappearing below it.

Molly looked about wildly, trying to figure out what had happened to him, but he reappeared a few moments later, directly behind her. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at one another, impressed by the show of magic the professor was giving them. "Had enough yet, Mrs. Weasley?" Potter asked, as she spun around to face him. "I think I've shown that my magic is clearly better than yours."

"You think so?" Molly asked, her voice turning shrill. "Let's take off the kid gloves first and see how well you do, then!"

She launched a rapid-fire sequences of curses, hexes and jinxes at the elderly wizard, forcing him to move slowly backward, closer and closer to the edge of the circle. The air was growing acrid with the smell of ozone; the grass had begun burning in several spots from deflected spells. Potter had not directed a single offensive spell toward her yet. "Why isn't he fighting back?" Hermione whispered to Harry. "He hasn't attacked her at all!" Harry shook his head, not knowing the answer. He only knew that he was seeing magic as he'd never seen it before.

Finally, Potter's foot landed next to the circle Mr. Weasley had drawn, and Molly, sensing victory, cast another Disarming Charm. Even as Harry turned back toward Professor Potter, he saw the wizard's wand spinning in the air toward Mrs. Weasley. Shocked, Harry stood gob-smacked as she reached up triumphantly to catch it, ending the duel.

But the wand kept on rising, flying over her outstretched hand, and had barely begun to fall back toward the ground when the professor appeared beneath it, his hand reaching up and catching it. He then waved it toward Mrs. Weasley, causing her own wand to fly from her hand, landing outside the circle, which promptly vanished.

Shocked, Mrs. Weasley stared at her wand, then glared accusingly at the professor. "Foul!" she cried. "I disarmed you first! I won the duel!"

"You never disarmed me, Mrs. Weasley," Professor Potter told her. "I threw the wand in the air before your Disarming Charm could strike me, then Teleported, caught it, and disarmed _you_. Now, will you and your husband give your consent to allow either or both of your children to attend my school?"

Mrs. Weasley, her red hair disheveled and her face flushed from the effort of casting so many spells, looked distinctly unhappy. But— "I agreed to allow them to attend if I lost, so you'll have your 'consent form,' Professor. Come on, Arthur." Mr. Weasley followed her into the house, and they emerged five minutes later carrying two consent forms, handing them over wordlessly to Potter, who smiled genially and, nodding thanks, placed them inside his robes.

"Thank you very much, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I'm sure both of your children will learn quite a bit from Potter's Field Magical Academy. Classes will begin on Monday morning of the following week. The first day is orientation for new students. It begins at 8:00 a.m. — that's 3:00 p.m. local time, in Devon."

"Excellent!" Ron said, beaming. "We'll be able to sleep in our first day of school!" Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry and Ginny laughed.

"I will make sure all the paperwork is handled," Potter continued. "You won't have to worry about a thing."

"I'm already worried," Mrs. Weasley muttered. "What happens if You-Know-Who finds out where Harry is?"

"Wizards with Dark enchantments laid on them, such as Voldemort —" everyone except Harry and Hermione flinched at the mention of his name "— and his Death Eaters, or creatures such as Inferi, zombies or dementors, will be unable to approach any closer than a mile to our school without being subjected to wracking pain," Potter told them. "And within five miles, we will be warned of their approach. They will be perfectly safe there."

"Isn't that what they keep telling us about Hogwarts?" Ron whispered to Harry, who gave him a annoyed look and shushed him.

"We should be on our way." Professor Potter turned to the students. "Whose parents should we visit next? How about yours, my dear?" he smiled at Hermione. She nodded, though looking a bit uncertain. "Very well!" the professor exclaimed, gathering them into a circle. "And off we go —"

"Wait!" Ron said suddenly. He broke from the circle and went over to his parents. A moment later Ginny followed him. "Thanks," he said to them, giving his mother a hug as Ginny hugged her father. "Don't worry," Ron whispered in his mother's ear, though Harry's super-hearing picked it up. "We'll protect Harry over there." Harry smiled. "Mum," Ron went on, "what's up with you dueling Professor Potter?"

"Oh, it was just — Minerva said she'd met the man a few times at summer conferences, and she said he wasn't that good."

Ron snorted softly. "Are you sure she was talking about _dueling_, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley released him rather abruptly, blushing furiously. "Alright, off with you, then," she said, in a normal voice. Grinning at Harry, as if he had some secret to share later (not knowing that Harry had already heard), Ron rejoined the others.

"Alright, let's try that again," Professor Potter said cheerfully. "Off we go!" The four of them — Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Professor—all vanished in a flash of light.

=ooo=

Lois was growing increasingly bored. The NASA reps had hurried the press onto the plane over two hours ago, getting everyone seated and coffee passed around, then proceeded to have some blonde talking head rattle on for two hours about the technological "firsts" of the experimental Boeing 777 that was going to take _Genesis_ up to the stratosphere, about 40,000 feet above sea level, where the shuttle would decouple from the platform and its booster rockets would engage, propelling it up through the mesosphere on this inaugural run to the thermosphere, where it was scheduled to perform several experiments before rendezvousing with _Mir_, the Russian space station.

But what galled Lois the most about this shuttle launch was that it was also meant to prove the "commercial application" of using an airliner as a launch platform. After the 777 reached 40,000 feet and _Genesis_ launched, the Boeing aircraft would return the press corps to Ellington Field; but once the launches progressed to a regular schedule, the plane would continue on to its destination, whether that was Chicago, New York, San Francisco or Seattle. It was a way to make the launches more profitable. Lois wasn't against people making money — she liked making it herself — but that profit would come with some inherent risks, which in Lois's opinion far outweighed the potential gain in revenue.

The other issue she had was, no one would tell her what the cost for a ticket on one of these flights was going to be! The blonde talking head kept deflecting her questions with promises to address them in the post-launch briefing; meaning, they did not want that information going public with the news of the launch itself. NASA probably wanted that buried in some follow-up article hidden on one of the back pages of the newspapers covering the story. Which probably meant they had a reason to hide the numbers. That made her all the more determined to find out what they were.

Lois's cell phone in her purse rang. She pulled it out and answered it, not bothering to look at the number to see who was calling — it could only be one person. "Hi, Perry," she said.

"Have you taken off yet?" Perry asked, without preamble.

"Not yet," she replied, adding a mental _D'uh_! — Perry hardly ever flew, and didn't own a cell phone anyway — he didn't realize that airlines required all electronic equipment to be off or in standby mode during takeoffs and landings. Cell phones didn't work while flying, anyway, though you could use the phones that some planes had installed in the backs of the passenger seats. "We're supposed to take off at 5:30."

"Good," White said. "I want you to send in the story as soon as you get back on the ground."

"Yes, Chief," she said, not mentioning that this was about the twelfth time he'd told her this.

"Okay — oh, by the way, you and Richard are going to the awards dinner, aren't you?" White asked.

"Yes, Chief," she said again. Her Pulitzer Prize was on her desk, somewhere, but everyone who won was expected to show up at the awards dinner. "We'll be there."

"Good. I'll talk to you later, after you're back from the flight." White hung up, and Lois dropped her phone back into her purse, sighing. This was going to be a boring launch, she just knew it.

=ooo=

Monica and Wendell Granger were both at home late that evening, both sitting in Wendell's den reading; Wendell had the latest copy of the British Dental Journal and was reading up on new clinical practices, while Monica was rereading Richard Adams' _Watership Down_. It was nearing midnight in Maida Vale, and the noise along Hamilton Terrace, the road their home was located on, had quieted to an occasional auto passing by. The relative quiet of this neighborhood was one of the reasons why the Grangers had chosen this place to live in — that, and the entrance to the Maida Vale Station was less than a mile away.

Wendell set down his journal and took off his reading glasses, pinching his nose between his eyes and stifling a yawn. Monica looked from her novel. "Fancy a cup of tea, dear?" she asked. As this was a Saturday night they did not have to get up early for work.

"No thank you, dear," Wendell said, stretching to get his circulation going once again. He had been reading for hours, now, without any thought of the time. "Just another page or two before I'm finished, then I think I'm off to bed. Are you coming?" he asked, with a smile.

"After I finish this chapter, dear," she said, without looking up, but Wendell caught a smile quirking her lips. Wendell went back to his article, grinning to himself.

A few minutes later he'd finished. Getting to his feet, Wendell said, "Right, then — I'll just make sure everything's locked and then off to bed." He padded into the living room, checking the locks on the front door. Before he flipped off the front light he looked through the small window at the top of the door, surveying up and down the street for signs of anything unusual going on. One never knew when something untoward might occur. He flipped off the light, then flinched violently as a bright flash startled him.

"What the devil?" he muttered, looking at the light he'd just turned off over his front stoop. Had it blown out? It didn't seem so, but then what was that —

"Hello, Daddy," a familiar voice said behind him.

"Hermione!" he said, delighted to hear her voice. "What brings you —" As he turned to face her, he found she was not alone. There were three other people with her — two young men Wendell recognized as her friends Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, and an old wizard whom he thought at first must be Professor Dumbledore. "— home," Wendell finished, softly, then smiled at the group. "I see you've brought some friends along."

"Yes, well…um, how's Mother?" Hermione asked, smiling nervously.

"She's fine," Wendell said, wary now that he'd heard the _I-need-something-from-you_ tone in his daughter's voice. "She's in the den, reading."

"She's right here," Monica said, standing in the hallway door. "I heard voices." She smiled wryly. "Did I miss the invitation for the party?"

"What —? Oh, no, there's no party, Mum," Hermione said, missing her mother's joke, something she did when she was _very_ nervous, Wendell recalled. "It's just Ron and Harry, you remember them, of course."

"Of course," her mother smiled at both of them; Ron and Harry both nodded and said "Hello," politely.

"And this, Mum and Dad," Hermione indicated the elderly wizard with them, "is Professor Phineas Potter, of Potter's Field Magical Academy."

"Delighted to meet you, sir," Wendell said, stepping up to shake the professor's hand, who smiled genially back at him.

"Likewise, sir," Potter answered, then shook Monica's hand as well as she offered it to him. "Delighted to meet you as well, madam."

"Very nice to meet you," Monica smiled. "Are you by chance related to Harry?"

"Oh, I would think so," Potter replied, looking thoughtful. "My ancestors came over to America from England at the beginning of the last century. But I don't know the exact relation."

"Ah, so you're from America!" Wendell said, looking interested. "I wondered that when I first heard you speak. I think that makes you the first American wizard I've met — at least, that I know of," he added, chuckling.

"So, what brings you here?" Monica asked, a hint of tension in her voice.

"But where are our manners?" Wendell said, giving his wife a look of mild annoyance. "Would you all like something to drink?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron were looking at one another; they all began shaking their heads when Professor Potter said, "I could use a glass of water, if you don't mind; I am a bit parched after all that spellcasting."

Monica looked at her daughter and the boys. After a moment Ron began nodding, then Harry. "Water, please," they both said, and Hermione nodded as well. Monica went to fetch the drinks.

"Would you all like to sit down?" Wendell asked, and everyone found some place to sit; the three Gryffindors sat side-by-side on the sofa, while Mr. Granger sat down in the recliner he normally used. He pointed to the other recline for the Professor, but the older wizard shook his head.

"That one should be for your lovely wife, Mr. Granger — I'll just make my own chair." Without taking out a wand Professor Potter gestured toward an open space on the living room floor and a comfortable velvet recliner appeared. He was sitting down as Monica appeared with a tray and four glasses of water. She held out the tray for the professor, who took a glass while smiling gratefully at her, then passed out the rest to Hermione, Ron and Harry. When she finished, she looked around the room again, as if confused by the number of chairs she saw.

"The professor made his own chair, dear," Wendell said, and she nodded and took the last empty recliner. "Now then, Professor," Wendell said, when his wife was seated. "What may we do for you?"

"Actually, we're here on a matter for your daughter," Potter elaborated. He looked at Hermione. "Perhaps you should continue from here, my dear."

Hermione took a deep breath and began explaining the situation to them (including the part where they'd left the Burrow without permission), how they had attended Ricky's birthday party in America, and how Professor Potter had pretended to be a Muggle magician so he could give the invitation to his school to Ricky's parents. She also told them that they had visited the school, and how it was teaching a different style of magic than Hogwarts did. Finally, she pointed out that, being in America, it would be much more difficult for Lord Voldemort (Ron flinched again) to find them there.

At the end of her explanation, Mr. Granger sat back, digesting all the information he'd been given. He did not look very pleased, Harry thought. Would he refuse to sign the consent papers and send Hermione to America? Would her mother? But his first comment was, "Sweetheart, I'm not sure about you switching schools this late in your magical education. Do you think that's wise?"

"If I was just thinking of going to another school that taught the same classes, I probably wouldn't even consider it," Hermione answered. "But Professor Potter's school teaches not only different types of magic, but more kinds of magic than the one Hogwarts does. It's quite fascinating."

"Can you give us an example, dear?" her mother asked. Hermione glanced over at Professor Potter for help.

"Of course, of course," Potter said. "There are nine schools of magic in our system: Abjuration, Alteration, also called Transmutation, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, and Necromancy. There is also a class called Universal, for spells that don't fit in any of the other categories."

"Necromancy?" Wendell repeated. "Isn't that Dark magic?"

"That's what _I_ said!" Ron piped up. Hermione and Harry, on either side of him, elbowed him in the ribs. He looked at both of them in surprise.

"That's its traditional name," Professor Potter explained, as he had for the Weasleys. "But it has both Light and Dark components, and we teach how to counteract the dark spells with light ones.

Wendell and Monica both looked at one another, and Hermione leaned forward, gripping Ron's arm unconsciously until he whispered "Ow!" in her ear. She hastily let go.

"What about transportation?" Wendell asked. "Will she have to fly over on a jet, or is there some other method used?"

"Normally, by fifth year students are sixteen years old and capable of teleporting to the school on their own," Potter answered. "But I can arrange transportation for Miss Granger — and for Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter as well, come to think of it, yes…they will all be able to travel together using a Teleport Token."

"Is that like a Portkey?" Hermione asked, eagerly.

"Yes, very similar," the professor nodded. "Although the effect is nothing like a Portkey, I'm told — none of that spinning about with colors whirling all around you! Just a flash of light and — _poof_! — you'll be at the entrance to Potter's Field."

"I suppose we can't avoid this question any longer," Wendell said. "How much will it cost?"

"The cost is two thousand American dollars per year, per student," Potter told them, and which at the current exchange rate is…" Potter's eyes went unfocused for a moment, calculating. Then, "About 1,291 pounds. If you give your consent tonight, I'll make it 2,400 pounds for both years, half payable now and the other half at the beginning of next year, assuming Hermione still wishes to attend."

Neither of Hermione's parents said anything in response, and after several seconds Harry was beginning to wonder if they hadn't been shocked speechless by what they were being asked to give permission for. Finally, Wendell got to his feet, facing Professor Potter, and everyone else in the room stood as well, anxiously awaiting his next words.

"Normally, at this point," Wendell began, looking at his wife, who stepped closer to him. "Monica and I would ask everyone except Hermione to leave the room while we discussed the situation…" he turned to Hermione. "But, our daughter has always made wise decisions regarding her education, and she's close enough to become an adult in the Wizarding world — her birthday is a little over a month away — that I know she's thought quite deeply about this decision as well. I believe we have a bargain, Professor Potter," he said, extending his hand once again.

"Thank you, sir," Professor Potter said, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously, then Monica's as well. "I'm sure you've made your daughter very happy!"

"Thank you, Daddy!" Hermione squealed, rushing into her father's arms, "Thank you both!" she said again as she hugged her mother.

"I shall draw up the admission paperwork and send it to you via magical stamp," Professor Potter told them. "For now, I need only your signatures on the consent form." The form appeared in his hand, and both Mr. and Mrs. Granger signed it in short order.

"Well," Professor Potter said to Harry, as Hermione and her parents chatted with Ron for a moment. "That leaves only your aunt and uncle, Harry. Shall we pop over to Little Whinging and see if they're awake?"

This was the part that Harry had been dreading — dealing with Vernon and Petunia once again. And after he thought he'd seen the last of them for the year! "Maybe you'd better let me talk to them alone, Professor," he suggested. "They—they don't really take too well to having wizards in their house."

"Oh, fiddlesticks, Harry!" Potter looked skeptical. "They've had you there all these years — what's so bad about that?"

_You don't want to know_, Harry thought. Aloud, however, he said only, "Professor Dumbledore came to the house to bring me to the Burrow a few weeks ago, and they made it very difficult for him."

"Mmm," Potter looked undecided. "Do you think you can persuade them to let you go, Harry, all by yourself?"

"I think so," Harry said confidently. "I'd really like to attend your school, Professor." _And neither my aunt or uncle are going to talk me out of it_, he'd already decided. _Even if I have to tear their house down to get them to sign!_

A few moments later the group appeared on Privet Drive; not in front of number four, but at the corner, several houses away.

Ron and Hermione looked around. They had expected to appear inside Harry's home, as they had at Hermione's parents' house. Professor Potter held out his hand toward Harry — as he did so, a new consent form appeared in it. Harry took the form, nodding, and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Aren't we going in with you, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "I think this will be easier with me along. The Dursleys aren't big on having wizards in their house, you know." He left the three of them standing there, and walked across the street and toward number four.

The house appeared quiet. Now nearly midnight, the Dursleys would be in bed after his aunt finished obsessively cleaning her kitchen for the last time. Using his X-ray sight, Harry scanned the house for any activity. All three family members were in their beds, as expected.

As he approached the front door, Harry realized that it was locked and he had no key. Normally, a wizard would use a simple spell, _Alohomora_ or something similar, to unlock it; but until he turned seventeen Harry legally couldn't perform magic out of school. If this was at the Burrow he would risk it. However, knowing that the Ministry could both locate him using the Trace and knew when magic was being performed near him (or by him, he wasn't sure if they could tell the difference) he refrained from pulling out his wand. There was a way for him to get in, though, if he was careful.

Grasping the door handle carefully (lest he accidentally leave a handprint in the solid metal) Harry compressed the door toward its hinges and pushed inward at the same time, making the door bow inward and slipping the locking bolt out of its socket, then pushing it open. Once inside, he flipped the bolt to the unlocked position; now he could claim the door had been unlocked, if Vernon or Petunia asked.

Moving silently to the staircase, Harry started up the steps; then, remembering, he rose into the air, a few inches above the steps and floated upwards, to avoid the creaky steps Vernon had installed in order to, as he put it, "Catch that ruddy boy if he goes stealing food again." This had started sometime in the spring the year Harry had turned six. What Vernon never realized, Harry remembered (or perhaps refused to believe), was that it was actually Dudley who was raiding the icebox. Harry had tried to explain that he had no reason to go up or down the stairs to steal food, and he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs anyway! "A likely excuse!" his uncle had growled at him. "You're going into the spare bedroom to eat your ill-gotten gains." He'd even added a special lock to the cupboard, to make sure Harry couldn't get out. But the food still kept disappearing. It wasn't until Vernon fastened a lock on the icebox itself that the pilfering stopped.

Reaching the top of the staircase and landing lightly on the floor, Harry smiled at the futility of his uncle's actions. He had indeed been pilfering food, but only after Petunia had put him to work cooking breakfast every morning. He grabbed bits and pieces of bacon and sausages, and gobbled down the odd piece of toast when any was left over, pretending to have thrown it away. More often than not, however, between the beefy Vernon and vast Dudley there was very little left after a meal.

Just to Harry's right at the top of the stairs was Dudley's bedroom; Harry could hear his cousin snoring sonorously. Opposite his door was the smallest bedroom, the one Harry had been given when his aunt and uncle feared they were being observed, and they didn't want anyone to know Harry had been sleeping in the cupboard. Just past Dudley's room was the first floor bathroom, and there was a small corridor leading to a spare bedroom where guests such as Aunt Marge had slept in the past. Beside the entrance to the corridor was the entrance to the master bedroom, where Vernon and Petunia were sleeping. He could hear Vernon snoring, as usual.

Well, it was now or never, Harry thought. Steeling himself, he opened the bedroom door and stepped quietly inside. The only light in the room was from a small nightlight glowing in an electrical plug; probably to provide light when going to the loo, Harry decided. There wasn't going to be any easy way to wake them up, so Harry simply flipped the switch next to the door, bathing the room in light.

Petunia woke up first. Shielding her eyes, she blinked rapidly as she tried to see who was there. "Duddikins?" she asked. "What are you —" Suddenly realizing who was standing there, she let out an ear-splitting scream. Vernon started and fell out of bed.

"What the devil, Petunia?" he said crossly, looking up over the edge of the bed at her. Petunia pointed fearfully toward the door, and Vernon's neckless head spun around to face Harry. "Who —? _What the devil are you doing here, boy_?"

"Well, I live here, you know —" Harry began.

"Don't be smart with _me_, boy," Vernon snarled, getting ponderously to his feet. "You're supposed to be off with those ruddy freak friends of yours!"

"Something came up about school," Harry said, wondering if he could bluff his way into getting them to sign the consent form without really reading it. Not likely, he knew, but worth trying. "I have a consent form for you both to sign."

"Consent form — for what?" Petunia asked, sharply. "You haven't asked us to sign a consent form for _years_ now!"

"I didn't know about this until just a few days ago," Harry said, being (mostly) truthful. Vernon thrust a beefy hand forward — at the same moment the bedroom door flew open, hitting Harry in the back with a loud _crack_, then a _thud_ as Dudley slammed into it.

"Whutsgoinon?" Dudley said blearily, through the small opening of the door, then lurched forward, nearly tripping as Harry stepped forward to hand the consent form to Vernon. "Harry!" he said, surprised to see his cousin. "What're _you_ doin' here? I thought you were off with your friends."

"I was," Harry replied. "But I had to come back here to get a consent form signed. You're going back to Smeltings, aren't —"

"What's this rubbish?" Vernon suddenly demanded, glaring at Harry. "This is about some school called 'Potter's Field' — a bloody stupid name for a school, if you ask me! What's this got to do with _you_, boy?"

Harry sighed to himself. Well, the jig was up. "It's the name of the school I want to attend this year," he explained. "It's in America."

"America?" Petunia said, shrilly. "Why on earth would you want to go _there_?"

"That's pretty obvious," Vernon said, with a nasty sneer. "He's been expelled from that freak school he's been going to here. Haven't you, boy?"

"No," Harry said, firmly. "I'm going because the — stuff — they teach there is different than what we learn here." Vernon had an unreasonable hatred for the word 'magic,' so Harry had avoided using it. "And because the bloke who wants to kill me won't be able to find me as easily, over there."

"Ha!" Vernon pounced on that nugget of information. "So you _are_ running away, eh? I thought so!" He started to crumple the consent form between his hands, but it suddenly vanished. A moment later Harry, who had grabbed it from his uncle at super-speed, was standing exactly where he'd been, but now holding the form in his hand.

"That was magic, wasn't it?" Vernon shouted. "You _are_ bloody expelled, aren't you, boy? I knew it!"

"It _wasn't_ magic," Harry insisted. He held up the form, just out of Vernon's reach for the moment. "But I need you to sign this, Uncle Vernon—and you, too, Aunt Petunia. Think about it this way: not only will I be out of your house for the next ten months, but I'll be out of Britain entirely — in fact, I'll be six thousand miles away, in America. And if things work out with this new school, I may not have to come back here next June."

Vernon and Petunia looked at one another. Vernon was now sporting a beaming smile beneath his mustache, but Petunia looked anxious. "What did Dumbledore say about this?" she asked.

"Haven't told him yet," Harry said, truthfully. "The — er, headmaster of the school in America will make the transfer arrangements with him."

"What about your house?" Vernon demanded. "The one your uncle left you?"

"Sirius was my godfather," Harry said, flatly. "And I don't care if I never set foot in it again. I'm letting someone else use it."

Vernon was looking obstinate. The idea that Harry would give up a _house_ was apparently quite irritating to him. Suddenly, Dudley spoke up. "Dad, what's the difference, if you don't want Harry around? You can just sign the —"

"Quiet, Dudley," his father growled, and Dudley closed his mouth, looking stung.

"Vernon, really!" Petunia chided him. "Duddikins is so delicate, you don't —"

"He must be getting soft," Vernon snapped at her, "to go defending the boy in front of _me_! _I_ run this house, d'you hear — not the boy, not Dudley, and not _you_!"

"Big talk from an old man who's getting soft himself," Harry spoke up. He'd had _enough_ of this. "Why don't you show me how _tough_ you are?" He held up his right hand. "I'll arm wrestle you — if you lose, you and Aunt Petunia sign the form. If you win, I leave and never come back. Deal?"

Vernon stared at Harry as if he'd just grown another head. He chuckled, then snorted, and finally bent over, laughing so hard he could barely hold himself upright. "You — you want — to arm wrestle — _me_, boy?" he finally wheezed. He grinned broadly, then threw on his housecoat. "Fine," he said, "Let's go down to the kitchen." Harry followed him, with Dudley on his heels.

Petunia was scurrying after them, moaning, "But Vernon, I just _cleaned_ the kitchen an hour ago!" Vernon ignored this, plopping his large bottom on a kitchen chair, an elbow on the table.

"Come on, boy," he said, sneeringly. "Let's get this over with so you can clear out of here and I can _finally_ get a decent night's rest, after all these years!"

Harry had to stand, leaning over the edge of the table to clasp Vernon's hand. "I'm read —"

"Go!" Vernon said, immediately twisting Harry's arm, trying to sprain his wrist. Harry let his arm sink about a third of the way toward the table before stopping it; Vernon was grunting with the effort of trying to move it further.

Harry looked tauntingly into his uncle's eyes. "See? You _are_ getting old. You thought you'd beat me in a second or two, didn't you?"

"You — can't — win — boy," Vernon huffed, leaning his whole shoulder in, trying to move Harry's hand those last six inches onto the table top. Both Petunia and Dudley looked on, amazement in their eyes. "Not — unless — you — _cheat_!"

"I won't need magic to beat you, old man," Harry said, coldly. And that was true enough. Vernon would never know that a hundred of him couldn't beat Harry now — the pressure his uncle was exerting was barely a feathertouch to Harry.

Slowly, Harry's arm moved forward, twisting Vernon's inexorably over backwards in spite of the older man's best efforts to stop him. There was only three inches between Vernon's hand and the table when Harry said, "Do you give?"

"_Never_!" Vernon gasped. "You'll have to beat me before I sign that bloody paper!"

Harry slammed his uncle's hand down on the table top, which broke and sent pieces of table, and Vernon, to the floor. Harry stood upright, surveying the wreckage, and said, "I win." He pushed the consent form at Vernon. "Sign it."

Vernon was holding his wrist gingerly. "I—I think you b-broke my hand," he stuttered.

Harry glanced at the bones in Vernon's forearm and hand. His wrist looked sprained, but Harry could see no breaks or cracks. "It's not broken," he informed Vernon. "Now, are you going to sign, or do you want to try for best out of three?"

Petunia took the form from Harry, then stepped over to a countertop, drew a pen from a utility drawer, and signed the paper. She handed it to Vernon, saying, "Just sign it," when he began to protest. Scowling, Vernon scribbled his name and thrust the paper at Harry.

"Take the bloody thing and get out," he snapped, not looking at his nephew.

"Thanks," Harry said, as sincerely as he could. He was just glad he didn't have to do anything really rough to his uncle. He nodded at Petunia, then smiled at Dudley, saying, "See you around, Big D."

"See you, Harry," Dudley said, as Harry marched out of the kitchen and through the hallway to the front door, letting himself out. Walking back across the street, he handed the consent form to Professor Potter, who examined it, beaming broadly.

"Excellent, Harry, excellent!" he cheered. "I'm pleased that all of you were able to obtain permission — although," he added, some sternness in his voice. "I was beginning to wonder what had gone on when we heard that scream."

"You heard that?" Harry asked.

"I think the entire neighborhood heard it," Potter informed him. "Several lights went on in houses around you, but I cast spells to send everyone who awoke back to sleep. What _did_ go on in there?"

"Oh, my aunt thought I was her son for a moment," Harry shrugged. "She screamed when she saw it was me."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't have to torture anyone to get them to sign." When Harry didn't respond, Potter gave him a quizzical look. "You _didn't_, did you?"

"Not exactly," Harry finally answered. "But I had to work pretty hard to persuade my Uncle Vernon to sign it."

"I see…" the professor said, examining the signature. Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that. "Well, all's well that ends well," Potter shrugged. "We can get you three back to the Burrow and I can get these forms processed. The sooner the better, of course — we have barely a week before school begins!

"All right, now, let's get in a circle and we'll be off."

=ooo=

Clark sat patiently in Lana's living room, watching with some interest as Ricky talked excitedly about attending the magic school, while his parents argued in the kitchen over whether Clark was going to help pay his tuition. What had surprised him most in all this wasn't that Ricky was a wizard, nor was it that Lana had accepted his offer of help, nor even that her uncle, Phineas Potter (whom Clark vaguely remembered from his childhood) was a wizard himself.

It was that she had actually married Brad Dolan. Brad, who'd been the biggest jock, and the biggest jerk, at Smallville High when Clark attended there. He and Lana had been friends for years until she met Brad in her freshman year. Brad at the time was handsome, popular, and he had a car, something that not many students' parents in the town of Smallville, Kansas, could afford for their children. But Brad's father was a financier, and when his family arrived in town he took over managing the operations at the Smallville Bank and Trust. Brad had wormed his way onto the high school football team through a combination of money contributed to the athletic fund by his father, some "arrangement" that had been made with the football coach and, unfortunately, some talent at running and passing the ball.

Now, in spite of the fact that Clark was actively trying not to listen to the argument going on in Lana's kitchen (he was also listening to most of the sounds going on in Smallville as well) he couldn't help but catch snippets of Lana and Brad discussing Ricky, and him. Clark tried to concentrate on the children out riding their bicycles, or playing on swings, running through sprinklers or splashing in wading pools, or swimming at the municipal pool, in the last few weeks of summer. There were fathers mowing lawns, mothers making dinner, couples ordering at Chez Café, Smallville's local diner. Clark could even hear Sarah, Ricky's baby sitting, ordering fries and a soda there, along with a young man who must be her date for the evening.

"What're you doing, inviting Kent over here anyway?" Brad's voice, hushed down to a harsh whisper, was still quite audible to Clark's super-ears. "The only reason I found out about Ricky's party was the invitation that old guy sent me!"

"A lot of good that did Ricky!" Lana shot back.

"What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"It means," Lana told him, flatly, "if you don't want me borrowing money from Clark, you'd better come up with some of your own!"

"I don't have that kind of money!" Brad hissed at her. "An' if I _did_, I'd be sending Rick to baseball camp, not some crazy magic school!"

"_Shhh_! He'll hear you! There's nothing crazy about this school, not if my uncle is running it. And those British kids that were here, he seemed to know them. They could do magic, too — Clark was telling me he met the black-haired boy, Harry Potter, in England just before he returned home to Smallville."

"Whoop-de-do," Brad said, condescendingly, whirling a finger in the air. "Clark Kent met some weird kid while on his weird trip. That doesn't mean _our_ kid ought to get involved in any of that crap."

Clark's eavesdropping was interrupted as Ricky's monologue about what he'd seen at the school began to wind down, and he looked at Clark. "Isn't it cool, Mr. Kent," he asked, excitedly. "Isn't it _cool_? I'm gonna learn magic!"

"It _is_ cool, Ricky," Clark nodded. "Very cool." He looked carefully at the eager youth, wondering if he was really ready to leave home for nearly a year and travel to an isolated location to study magic. It brought back memories of his own when, after graduating from Smallville High, he found the green crystal in the remains of the ship that had brought him to Earth, a crystal that led him north, where it created the Fortress of Solitude for him. He spent several years there training, learning to use his powers, coming back to civilization to attend Metropolis University and earn a degree in journalism and take a job as a reporter for the Daily Planet, before taking to the skies as Superman. "Do you think you'll be okay, Ricky, being away from home for so long?"

"Sure," Ricky grinned. "Harry will be there. He's pretty cool, too!"

"He is," Clark agreed. Lana and Brad were still arguing quietly in the kitchen. Clark stood.

"Where you going, Mr. Kent?" Ricky asked him.

"Just to take a walk," Clark said. "To stretch my legs a bit. I'll be back soon."

"Can I come with you?"  
Clark shook his head. "You'd better stay here with your mom and dad," he told him. "They may want to discuss your new school after they finish talking." _Hopefully, Lana was going to _win_ that "discussion,"_ Clark added to himself.

Ricky looked disappointed, but shrugged. "Okay," he said, and slouched back into his bedroom. Clark let himself out the front door quietly.

He glanced toward Smallville's downtown area, several blocks away, where the clock outside Smallville Bank and Trust indicated it was a few minutes before six p.m. Thinking about his Fortress had reminded Clark there was something he needed to retrieve from it — Harry's broom. They had left it in Clark's spaceship, which was still sitting outside the Fortress, along with that chunk of kryptonite he had encased in lead. Clark wanted to see if he could use the Fortress to analyze how the combination of k-radiation and lightning had transferred some of his powers to Harry Potter, and vice versa. Looking around, there was no one else outside nearby. Clark walked between Lana's and her neighbor's house, as if he were going to her back yard. At super-speed, he slipped off his outer clothes, revealing his Superman uniform, and shot into the air faster than the eye could follow.

Turning south, Superman flew at hypersonic speed across North, Central, and South America, heading for Antarctica, where his Fortress was now located. Normally, such a trip would take only seconds, but Superman allowed himself the leisure of flying at only several thousand miles an hour, a mere stroll compared to the speeds he was capable of. It felt good to have the wind rushing past him as he flew, something he'd learned anew watching Harry learn to fly. Harry, who was used to speeds up to 150 MPH on his broom, had been amazed at the sensation of flying three hundred, four hundred or even five hundred miles an hour; Clark was certain he'd flown even faster by now with his trips back and forth across the Atlantic. He smiled to himself, wondering what Harry would do with his broom once he brought it back to him — Superman didn't know what games, if any, wizards in America played using brooms.

Passing over the coast of Antarctica, Superman slowed as he approached the location of his Fortress. He flew downwards, but long before he reached the ground his super-vision saw that something had happened to the spacecraft. The hatch to the craft was open. Worse still, he could see that the lead sphere containing the kryptonite was on the ground below the hatch. Worst of all, a hole had been melted in the sphere and the kryptonite removed!

Moving at super-speed, Superman passed through the hatch and into the spacecraft. He had brought almost nothing with him to Krypton; the ship had provided for all of his needs while he was in the Krypton system and his powers had disappeared, so it took no time at all to determine that Harry's broom was missing as well. This was very bad, Superman knew — someone had found the new location of his Fortress already! What's more, he had a premonition about who it was as well.

Superman trained his X-ray vision on his Fortress, checking to see if anyone was inside, but could not penetrate the crystal. That was disturbing as well — he should be able to see through it! He reached into the pouch inside his cape, taking out the gold coin Harry had given him earlier that day. He had to warn Harry about this — warn him to stay away from the Fortress in case his worst fears were confirmed. The problem was, he did not have a wand to activate the coin, per Harry's instructions!

But he had to do something! At last, Superman put his fingertips on the coin, concentrating hard, and said softly, "Harry, if you get this message, stay away from the Fortress. There may be kryptonite present. I will let you know when it's safe." The coin seemed to vibrate slightly in his hand; Superman hoped whatever magic activating it had worked for him. He slipped the coin back into the pouch in his cape, then flew out of the spacecraft, above the Fortress, and let himself drift downward through a small opening in the interlocking crystals covering its top.

Superman rotated slowly as he drifted downward to the floor of the Fortress, near where the master console was located. The walls inside were now as opaque to his X-ray vision as the outside walls had been; he could hear no sounds coming from anywhere inside the Fortress, either. Could it be that whoever had taken the kryptonite and Harry's broom from his spacecraft was no longer here? No — he saw Harry's broom lying on a crystal ledge. But of the kryptonite there was no obvious sign, though Superman felt a vague queasiness running through his body. Was there kryptonite present here somewhere, or was he merely feeling nervous?

"Well, the prodigal son returns." Superman turned as a section of the wall retracted, revealing a familiar voice and face as the man stepped into the room, along with three other men. Superman frowned as he recognized both the face and the voice.

"Luthor," he said, softly. "I wondered if it would be you. How did you get in here?"

Luthor shrugged. "The door was open. The light was on. Did you forget to set the alarm before you left?"

Superman made no reply. It was possible — when he and Harry left the Fortress a few weeks ago, he did not recall giving the command to activate the Fortress's defense system as they left. He watched silently as Luthor and his three henchmen approached him — the three men, all looking like they had spent hard time in prison, spread out, surrounding the Man of Steel. One of them, curiously, was holding a video camera, positioning himself to record both Superman and Luthor.

"No matter," Luthor continued, when the four of them had surrounded Superman. "I made a few 'improvements' to your security, Superman. It now takes orders from _me_. And I've ordered it to neutralize you."

Superman was almost afraid to ask, but — "What does _that_ mean?"

Luthor smiled, then took a few steps closer to Superman. "Well, let's just say, I remember that little trick you pulled on General Zod and his sidekicks, back when the Fortress was up north and they brought us all here so you could kneel before Zod. I assume you remember as well?"

It was an unnecessary question. Of course, with super-memory, Superman recalled that his original Fortress had contained a red solar chamber, capable of neutralizing his super-powers so he could be with Lois, after she had discovered that Clark Kent and Superman were the same person. Lois had been looking at one of the crystals (the Green Crystal, the crystal that was the primary storage for all the Kryptonian knowledge his father Jor-El had sent to Earth with his infant son Kal-El) and had mislaid it, so it was not destroyed with the other crystals after Superman relinquished his powers.

After learning that Zod, Ursa and Non were terrorizing Washington D.C. and the world, waiting for Superman's return, Clark returned to the Fortress to find some way to reverse the effects of the red solar chamber, and found the Green Crystal. He used it to rebuild the Fortress; then, hoping to lure the Kryptonians to the Fortress, he reversed the effects of the red solar chamber, making it neutralize the powers of all Kryptonians _outside_ the chamber rather than inside. Superman had expected to lose his powers once again as well, knowing it would be a small price to pay to ensure the safety of Earth. Unwittingly, Luthor had exposed what he thought was Superman's plan to lure Zod inside the chamber and destroy his powers, and Zod instead forced Superman to stand inside the chamber, not realizing that he, Ursa and Non's powers had been taken away by the red solar effect, while Superman was protected inside the crystal chamber.

"I remember," was all Superman said. "But I didn't rebuild that chamber when I moved the Fortress here, Luthor."

"I know," Luthor smiled, stepping forward to smirk in Superman's face. "But I learned a few things from your dear old dad, and I added a few features. That little 'gift' you left out in the ship also came in pretty handy as well."

He and Superman stared at one another for several long seconds. What Luthor was waiting for, Superman could not tell — he seemed to be watching his face closely. Superman blinked, suddenly; there was a sensation of wetness along the side of his face, as if he'd broken into a cold sweat —

Luthor's fist shot out suddenly, catching Superman in the chest. The impact knocked him to the floor. Superman clutched his chest in pain — his powers were _gone_. "Surprise," said Luthor. He looked at his men. "You guys soften him up a bit — just remember to leave some for me at the end."

**Author's Notes: Q&A from reviews for Chapter Six:**

Q: Shouldn't clark's and harry's power levels rise to 100% when they're in then sunlight? that does usually recharge superman, doesn't it? (at least from what I remember from lois&clark the series)  
A: Their power levels would rise to 100% of their current capacities, but not necessarily to 100% of Superman's original strength levels.

Q: Isn't the fortress of solitude located on the north pole? I did some browsing and it did indeed mention it being located on the arctic (not antarctic) and I believe that's the north pole in english isn't it?  
A: Superman moved it to the Antarctic before he left to find Krypton. In _Superman Returns_ it appears to be in the Antarctic.

Q: I don't think any piece of regular clothing can withstand the friction when flying faster than the speed of sound. (especially with the extreme acceleration) I also remember superman taking lois flying on occasion(even outside the atmosphere if I'm not mistaken) so why did Harry have to bother with bubblehead charms and unbreakable charms? my theory is that when in contact with superman, he generates some kind of field that protects everything inside.  
A: When writer/artist John Byrne rebooted Superman in the comics in the mid-1980's, he did away with the idea that objects from red-sun planets became indestructible under a yellow sun. It is Superman's Kryptonian biology that enables his yellow-solar charged cells to generate an aura that makes him invulnerable; that aura extends a few millimeters beyond his skin, protecting skin-tight clothing but not looser clothes like T-shirts and jeans. His flying powers also help him lift and fly objects that would normally break apart if picked up, but they would still be susceptible to air friction (like Ron and Hermione's exposed skin). Objects Superman (and Harry) holds while flying are immune to acceleration, but not to friction. That's how Superman can catch you when you're falling from a building and you aren't crushed against his arms with the sudden stop — his flying power protects you from the sudden deceleration. (He just has to remember to fly an inch off the ground or so if he's standing on the ground below you when you're falling.)

Q: I also think wizards don't stand a chance against someone like superman. they wouldn't even (imo) stand a chance against a regular guy with a handgun. It takes at least a second to cast a simple spell. In that time, one can fire 5 bullets semiautomatically. Add to that the fact that spells are easily dodged without any superpowers... So Superman and Harry shouldn't have too problems dealing with old snakeface and his henchmen unless he gets his hands on some kryptonite, but personally I think that's getting a bit old.  
A: Superman is vulnerable to magic (and so is Harry, even super-powered). They do have the advantage of strength and speed, so as long as they aren't surprised, they should be able to react much more quickly than any witch or wizard. A smart wizard, wand in hand, facing down a person with a gun should be able to easily beat the gunman. Just off the top of my head, he could: banish the gun from the gunman's hand, summon the gun to him, disarm the gunman, transfigure the gun to something harmless, or Disapparate. Any number of jinxes, hexes or curses could be applied to the gunman, all non-verbally so a spell could be cast in one-quarter to one-half second. Add to this the fact that, unless the gunman _knows_ the wizard can cast spells, he may not realize the crazy person waving the stick at him from ten or fifteen feet away is actually dangerous.

Q: I don't see why Harry would want Ricky to go to hogwarts, its probably the least safe wizard school in the world at this point.  
A: Actually, it still seems like one of the safest schools, except for what Draco does during sixth year (which hasn't happened yet in this story). All of the other problems that occurred inside Hogwarts were because of Voldemort's agents infiltrating the school, or because the events transpiring were not what they seemed, like Sirius Black trying to get into the school not to harm Harry, but to find Peter Pettigrew.

Q: Ok, but how did Lex Luther find the fortress of solitude if it was under the fidelous charm having earlier been cast by Dumbledore himself, when Harry, Clark and Dumbles were all there?  
A: Clark didn't include the location of the Fortress in the secret Dumbledore hid with the Fidelius Charm.

Q: He [Professor Potter] isn't relate to Harry is he? Or he is from another Potter family?  
A: They probably are related in some way, but Professor Potter probably doesn't have complete information on his family before his ancestors came to America.

Q: How is Harry going to explain all this to Ron and particularity the Herminator with her blood hound ambitions to know everything, everywhere, anywhere there is a fragment of knowledge to be had or a mystery she just has to solve or she goes bananas trying to find some answer that fits her thinking?  
A: Keep on reading to find out!


	8. The Rescue

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Eight  
****The Rescue**

_Updated 24 September 2010_

"I just wish I knew what's come over all of them," Molly Weasley was saying as she poured her husband Arthur and herself another cup of tea in the Burrow's kitchen. "Especially Harry. He seems so…different now than in the past few years. More rebellious. I'm starting to think Fred and George are rubbing off on him."

"Boys will be boys, dear," Arthur said, tiredly, sipping at his tea. "Bill and Charlie both went through a rebellious phase as well — even Percy did, though in his case it was whether or not he was going to sit for all twelve O.W.L.s or not."

"This isn't just about O.W.L.s, Arthur!" Molly snapped. "This is about their futures — Ron and Ginny's, and Hermione's too, as well as Harry! What in Merlin's name persuaded them all to go gallivanting off to some other country to learn magic — and from an _American_ wizard, no less!"

"I don't know, dear," Arthur shook his head and took another sip of tea. "I've sent Dumbledore a letter explaining what we do know about it. I hope Errol makes it to Hogwarts without too much delay — I wish we could've gone through faster channels, but Errol blends so well into the countryside."

"How much longer do you think they'll be?" Molly asked, a bit nervously. She glanced at the clock she kept nearby at all times now, the one with a hand for each member of the Weasley family; Ron's hand (as well as every other hand) was pointed at "mortal danger." "I don't know _what_ to think of all this running around in the middle of the night, waking people up just to have them sign forms and such! This Professor Potter fellow must think he's something special if —"

There was a sudden flash of light, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both jumped, startled as four figures appeared in their kitchen. Unnoticed, Ron's hand on the clock jumped to "traveling" for a moment, then back to "mortal danger."

"Well, here we are once again," Professor Potter was beaming at his three new students. "Home sweet home! Ah!" He looked around, surprised to see the Weasleys seated at the table, staring at him in astonishment. "My apologies for Teleporting in without permission," he said, with a slight bow toward them. "I thought you'd both be asleep by now, and I wanted to be sure everyone made it home safely, what with all of those infernal Death Eaters around these parts."

"Not at all, Professor," Arthur said genially, though Molly glared at the elderly wizard. "We just thought we'd stay up to say goodnight."

"Yeah, right," Ron whispered to Harry. "I bet Mum wants a rematch with the old boy, the way she's looking at him…."

"Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?" Mr. Weasley said, starting to pick up the kettle from the stove, but the professor waved off the offer.

"Thank you, Arthur, but I must be on my way, yes indeed," Potter demurred. "I must catch up on my beauty rest," he added, chuckling. He bowed toward Mrs. Weasley, "I wish you and your lovely wife a pleasant evening."

Mrs. Weasley, a bit surprised by the Professor's gracious manners, especially after their duel earlier that evening, found herself offering him a small smile. "And to you, Professor Potter."

"Thank you." Potter turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "I look forward to seeing the three of you a week from Monday, then." He shook all three of their hands farewell, then strode out the kitchen door. There was a flash of light just as the door closed, and he was gone.

Mrs. Weasley turned back toward Harry, Ron and Hermione. She did not look very happy, not happy at _all_. Ron gulped, stepping back so he was slightly behind Harry, but all Mrs. Weasley did was sigh loudly.

"I don't know _what's_ come over the three of you," she said, more calmly than even Harry had expected, especially after everything that had happened tonight. "I really don't, you know. _But_," she went on, throwing up her hands in resignation. "you've all made your beds — now you can sleep in them."

"I could use some sleep," Ron agreed tiredly, rubbing the back of his head.

"That's not what she means, Ron," Hermione whispered.

"No, it's not, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley agreed, "but it's late, and I'd rather sleep now and yell at you tomorrow about it, if that's okay with you?"

When Ron just stared at her, wide-eyed, Mrs. Weasley sighed again and said, "Go to bed, Ron. We'll talk tomorrow. That goes for the lot of you," she added, looking at Harry and Hermione. "Come on, Arthur."

"Good night, Harry, Hermione," Mr. Weasley nodded as he stepped past them. He put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Better get some rest, son," he told him. "I have a feeling you'll need your strength tomorrow."

Ron nodded, and Mr. Weasley followed his wife upstairs. After listening to them trudge up several flights, Ron looked at Harry, saying softly. "That wasn't too bad, I guess."

"'Wasn't too _bad_?'" Hermione repeated incredulously, her voice a strained whisper. "It's sounds like your mum's going to tear you a new _arse_ tomorrow!"

Ron and Harry looked at one another, then at Hermione. Ron raised his eyebrows at her turn of phrase but just shrugged. "It's not like _that's_ never happened before," he said — quite reasonably, Harry thought.

"But we _are_ getting to go, aren't we?" Ron pointed out, and Hermione was forced to nod in agreement. "And since Harry will be several thousand miles from where You-Know-Who is," he went on, "I'm hoping we're well shot of _him_."

"He'll still be _here_, though," Hermione reminded him, while glancing at Harry, who stared back at her with a level gaze. She had seemed quite sure about going while they were at her parent's house earlier that even, but now… now she'd had some time to think about it, and if there was one thing Hermione did, it was think about things — sometimes _too_ much, Harry felt.

At least he could guess why Ron was going — mostly because Harry wanted to go, to get out of Britain for a while as well as learn some new kinds of magic, and Ron was following along like a best mate would be expected to do. With Ginny going along as well, the four of them would each have both male and female friends to hang out with there.

"We'd better get some rest," Harry said, with a nod toward the stairs. "We can talk about this more in the morning." He grinned, "_After_ Ron gets his morning reaming out from his mum."

"Yeah, thanks, Harry," Ron retorted, in a deliberately whiny voice, then chuckled as the three of them started up the stairs. Harry fell in behind his two friends, absently sticking a hand in his pocket as he trudged up the stairs after them. Hermione would stop on the first floor, while Harry would continue to the second floor and Ron, all the way up to the fifth floor and his room. Harry wasn't really sleepy but he could spend some time thinking about what subjects he'd be taking at his new school — wandless magic and other topics yet unknown, that —

Something in his pocket buzzed against his fingers. It was the fake Galleon, Harry realized — one of the two he'd gotten from Fred and George when he'd visited their shop a few weeks ago. The other one he'd given to Clark, before they left with Professor Potter. He took it out of his pocket, wondering how Clark had managed to send a message without his wand.

On the first floor landing, Ron had paused as Hermione went into her room. "See you tomorrooooo…" he told her, covering a huge yawn with his hands, as she murmured good night to him and Harry. "Coming, Harry?" Ron asked, as he started toward the second floor.

"In a minute," Harry said, distractedly. He was reading the message scrolling across the coin. HARRY IF YOU GET THIS MESSAGE STAY AWAY FROM THE FORTRESS THERE MAY BE KRYPTONITE PRESENT I WILL LET YOU KNOW WHEN ITS SAFE. He looked up, seeing Ron staring curiously at him. "Er — just found a Galleon in my pocket," he said, waving the coin. "I've, uh got to go, er —" he jerked his head in the direction of the loo.

"Lucky," Ron said, about the Galleon. "I've got to go, too," he added, starting up the steps again. "I'll use the one next to Mum and Dad's room. G'nite, Harry."

"Night, Ron." Harry stood there for several seconds, digesting the message he'd just read. Something didn't feel right about it. Why would Clark add that he'd let Harry know when it was _safe_? Kryptonite was dangerous to Clark (and to Harry as well, now!) but it wasn't like it suddenly jumped up and attacked you or anything — they knew how to handle it. And how did kryptonite get into his Fortress in the first place, unless he (or someone else?) brought it there? It would be like a wizard keeping bottles filled with basilisk venom sitting around!

It bore investigating, Harry decided. At the very least, he thought, he could bring along some lead to sheath the kryptonite in — he couldn't imagine there was much of it lying about in the Antarctic. In addition lead, being a heavy metal, was tricky to transfigure, though not as hard as gold, which required a Philosopher's Stone to create.

"Harry?" A voice whispered nearby, and Harry turned toward it. Hermione was peering at him through her door, which she'd opened a crack. "What are you doing out there?"

"Just — thinking," Harry replied, softly, still trying to work out a way to transfigure lead. His increased magical power should help some, if he could figure out how— He suddenly blinked, realizing who was only a few feet away! "Er, Hermione — do you know how to transfigure lead?"

"Lead?" she looked surprised by the question. "Of course I do — but why do you need to transfigure lead?"

"Well —" He didn't really want to get into it with her right now. "It's a long story…."

She opened the door and stepped outside her bedroom. She hadn't changed into her night clothes yet. "I've got all night," she told him. "I'm not really very sleepy. Do you have your books for sixth year up in your room?"

"Yes, but —"

"Let's go up and have a look," she said, pushing him toward the stairs. Harry went along with it, of course; she couldn't have budged him otherwise. They tiptoed up the steps and into his room. His books were still in his book bags from Flourish and Blotts. Hermione rummaged around through the bags, pulling out his copy of _Advanced Transfiguration_. "So why would you need to transfigure lead?" she asked again, starting to leaf through the book.

"I need to use it for protection from some other material," Harry said, watching her flip the pages in a (to him) agonizingly slow manner. "It's stuff that gives off harmful radiation," he added, hoping that would satisfy her curiosity.

But no such luck. "That would have to be something radioactive," she said, looking up at him with a skeptical expression. "Where are you finding something like that?"

"Not around here," Harry said quickly. "But…I was just…thinking about something Clark told me about, and I wondered if there was a way to make some lead, to stop the radiation from hurting anyone."

"Why don't you just transfigure the material itself?" Hermione pointed out. "You could change _that_ into lead, if it's a radioactive material. Transfiguring something to a base metal is not that hard."

"Er, yeah, I guess so," Harry said, chagrinned that he hadn't seen that obvious answer. "But — it's more like a crystal than a metal, I think."

Hermione stopped flipping through the book again. "A crystal? I never heard of any radioactive crystal, Harry."

"Uh — well…" Harry didn't know what else to say. It was important in Transfiguration to at least have an idea of the original material you were transfiguring, as well as the target material. Kryptonite itself was strange from the get-go — it seemed both crystalline and metallic, and it had been over two months since his first and only exposure to it, the day he gained his powers.

"You know, Harry," Hermione went on, in an accusatory tone, when he didn't finish his reply. "You _have_ been acting a bit secretive lately. I mean, tunneling out beneath the Burrow against Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's orders, then Ron and I find ourselves in America without so much as a by-your-leave — when were you going to _explain_ all this to us?"

It was true — they'd rushed around so fast since arriving in Kansas for Ricky's party that Harry hadn't had the opportunity to tell them anything. "Hermione, I promise I'll explain all of this to you soon, but for now, I need to find a way to transfigure that material — and fast!"

She was giving him an appraising look now, as if assessing whether he was really being truthful this time. "Fine," she said at last. "But I'm holding you to that promise, Harry Potter! As for that transfiguration spell, well… I'm sure there's something in this book somewhere, if I can just find it…"

Out of patience, Harry reached out and took the book from her. "I'll find it," he said, and began reading the book as fast as he could. The information flowing into his brain was dizzying, almost disorienting, even for his accelerated rate of thought. Finally, after what seemed to him like hours of reading, he reached the last page and closed the book. He looked up at Hermione.

She was staring at him in astonishment. "Harry," she said, amazed. "Bloody hell!" she blurted, using one of Ron's favorite epithets. "You read that book in — in just a few seconds!"

"It felt like it took a long time," Harry said, rubbing his temple. "But it's all up here, now."

"How could you _do_ that?" she persisted. "Even 'increased magical ability' wouldn't let you do something like that!"

Harry stood, handing her the book. "I'll explain," he told her. "But not right now, Hermione. I — I have to go."

"Go? Where? You know we still can't leave the Burrow without setting off the alarm," she reminded him, then corrected herself. "Oh — right. The tunnel. Alright then," she nodded. "But I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," Harry said, flatly. "No discussion," he added, when she opened her mouth to argue.

"Fine," she huffed, waving a hand petulantly at the door. "Go on, then."

Harry frowned. He wanted to tell her, but now was definitely not the time, not with something going on in the Antarctic with Clark and the Fortress. "Hermione, I'm out of time, I've got to go! I _promise_ I'll explain all this to you!"

"Just go," she said, flatly, looking away from him.

Harry moved at speed, before she looked back, so that he was through the door and down the stairs at the cupboard before she even looked back at him. When she turned her head at the _whooshing_ sound, Harry was no longer in the room, as if he'd Disapparated. She looked around the room, wondering how he'd gotten out so fast, especially since there were spell wards set up so that no one could Apparate in or out of the Burrow.

Meanwhile, Harry was moving through the tunnel at super-speed, blasting out of the hole at the far end of the garden, behind the hedge, and into the night sky. In a few moments he had gone hypersonic, and shot out of the atmosphere, through the thermosphere into the exosphere, over 500 miles above the surface. From there he accelerated even faster, turning south toward Antarctica and the Fortress.

He arrived over the Fortress a few seconds later, streaking downward through the atmosphere, ignoring the heat that was building up across his skin and clothes. They were enchanted to withstand the friction heat of atmospheric reentry, he'd learned that lesson long ago. A few seconds in the Antarctic's subzero weather would cool him and them down, anyway. He slowed to a near-stop a few thousand feet above the Fortress; his super-hearing had picked up strange sounds coming from within — the sound of flesh hitting flesh. What would Clark be doing that would make those sounds, except fighting? He and Clark had sparred a bit a few months ago, so Harry could understand the consequences of hitting someone who wasn't super-powered like himself, but they'd never actually traded blows in anger. The noises coming from the Fortress sounded like _several_ angry men.

Harry trained his eyes on the Fortress, to see what was going on inside, but strangely, his vision could not penetrate the crystal now. Glancing toward Clark's spaceship sitting near the entrance to the Fortress, Harry was able to see inside it, but there was nothing inside — not even his broom. Doubly strange! Landing softly on the Fortress' enclosing crystal blocks next to the access hole in the roof, Harry looked down inside the Fortress, just barely managing to stifle a gasp at what he saw.

Four men were inside the Fortress with Superman. One, a bald man dressed in a thick, warm shirt and pants and parka, stood to one side, watching as the other three men, similarly dressed, were physically _beating_ Superman! Clark looked almost powerless to protect himself — his face was bruised and bleeding, and his uniform had torn in several places as the three men slapped, punched or kicked him back and forth between them.

Harry nearly dived through the opening to fly down and save him, but stopped as he recalled what Clark's message had said. Obviously, kryptonite was present _somewhere_ in the Fortress — it must be why Superman couldn't defend himself against the men who were beating him! If that was true, then the only thing Harry would accomplish by flying down to rescue him would be to lose his powers as well. But he had to do something! For the moment, however, all he could do was watch, until a way to save Clark came to mind.

"Too bad you aren't able to enjoy this like I am, Superman," the bald-headed man said at that moment. "You don't know how long I've waited to put you on the receiving end of a beating like this. I'd say my anti-Kryptonian defense system is working pretty well, wouldn't you?"

The three men had stopped punching and hitting Superman momentarily while the bald-headed man spoke to him. "To a twisted mind like yours, Luthor, I suppose hurting others is the only thing that brings you pleasure, isn't it?"

Luthor, the bald man, looked almost hurt by this remark. "You wound me, Superman — really, you do. Am I so different than any other evil super-genius you've known?" He gestured to the Fortress around them. "I mean, even though I managed to find this place _again_, after you'd moved it almost twelve thousand miles from where it used to be, then took the kryptonite you thoughtfully provided and turned it into a weapon against you, to remove your superpowers so my friends and I could have a little dance with you, before I destroy the _Genesis_ shuttle (along with your girlfriend Lois Lane aboard, I might add) and announce your death to the world and my complete takeover of all of Earth's technological resources? You know, you shouldn't be such a hater, son of Jor-El." Luthor gestured for his men to continue the beating, even as Superman shook his head in horror at Luthor's threats.

_So _that's_ what had happened_, Harry thought. The kryptonite was neutralizing Superman's powers! He looked carefully around the walls of the Fortress, trying to find signs of where the kryptonite radiation was coming from. Within a few seconds he had found the sources, twelve of them, in various locations along the walls. They were each beaming enough radiation at Superman that collectively his strength was reduced to that of an ordinary man. And if Harry went into the Fortress, he had to assume he would be detected as a super-powered Kryptonian and neutralized as well.

But he still had his magic! Harry also had his Invisibility Cloak, stuffed into a pocket — he might be able to get inside and, with the knowledge he now had from his Transfiguration text, change the kryptonite to harmless crystal. But he also needed to do something to give Clark an edge, before they killed him. Harry wondered if he could just barge in and take out the four bad guys at super-speed. But if they increased the strength of the green K radiation, he and Clark might end up helpless — and dead. He would have to do something more subtle. Harry looked above him, into the deep blue sky. If only there were a bit more sunlight for him and Clark to absorb…

Well, was he a wizard, or not? There was something Harry could try, though it was a bit crazy. And subtle it was not. But if it worked…

Harry rose into the air, flying upward several thousand feet, to where the air began to thin out. He would need air, and plenty of it, to pull off what he planned to do. Taking out his wand, Harry made a spinning gesture with his wand above his head. The air around him began to transfigure, while at the same time Harry was making calculations in his head that would normally have taken him _days_ to compute. The object he was transfiguring from thin air was very similar to air, which made this spell just a bit easier to perform, considering the size of what he was creating.

A giant, parabolic glass lens.

It was nearly a mile in diameter—large enough to focus a significant amount of solar radiation toward the earth, and concentrate it at the same time. He wanted it focused on only a hundred yards or so, intensifying the radiation so that Clark could more easily absorb it. As soon as it had formed, the lens began to fall toward the ground, but Harry was ready with a Levitation Charm, to hold it aloft.

Flying around to the top side of the lens, Harry concentrated on producing the reflective coating for the mirror. He could not transfigure silver (that would require a Philosopher's Stone just as gold would) but he could transfigure a tin-mercury amalgam, a coating used in earlier times that he'd learned about in his Transfiguration textbook. At super-speed, the back of the lens was coated with a thin layer of amalgam within a minute. Then Harry rose higher in the sky, pulling the lens after him with the Levitation Charm, until enough of the sun was visible over the Earth's horizon for him to aim the mirror so its rays reflected downward toward the Fortress.

Flying downward again to the Fortress, Harry saw that its crystal structure was now glowing more brightly than before. He landed on the roof once again, peeking downward through the access hole in the roof to see what was happening. The Fortress interior was brighter than before—some of the sunlight was getting through the translucent material, even if his X-ray vision couldn't penetrate it. Luthor, who was at the main console, was moving his hands across the flickering crystals—he hadn't noticed the change in brightness yet, as his attention was focused on the image floating in the air in front of him, an image of the space shuttle and its Boeing 777 platform.

Luthor's three goons had forced Superman to his feet and were holding him—one was behind him, his arms wrapped around Clark's throat, while the other two held his arms pinned. "Don't do it, Luthor!" Superman was shouting at him, referring to his plan to destroy the shuttle and platform. "Hundreds of people will die needlessly!"

"Needlessly?" Luthor said, without turning around. "Oh, I wouldn't say needlessly, exactly. They do need to know that I'm in control of Earth's technology, thanks to you, Superman." He glanced back at the Man of Steel. "You know, I'm surprised you even came back to Earth after that piece your girlfriend wrote last year — my favorite article of all time: 'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman.'" He smirked at the surprised look on Superman's face. "Neat title, isn't it?"

"L-lois wrote that?" Superman said, uncertainly.

"Yep. Won a Pulitzer Prize for it, too," Luthor added grinning. "Won't the world be surprised when they find out I control your alien technology now? I think that's something they need to know. Plus, they need to know that I'll do just about anything to maintain that control, and enforce it — including killing you and anyone else that gets in my way."

"You're insane, Luthor!" Superman told him. Luthor laughed.

"Insane, brilliant," he said. "To-_may_-to, to-_mah_-to." His hand passed over a crystal on the console, then turned triumphantly toward the Man of Steel, "Anyway, it's too late to call the whole thing off —" Luthor frowned, seeing the brightened light in the Fortress for the first time. "What's going —"

Superman suddenly thrust his arms out, throwing off the two men holding them. He grabbed the arm of the man holding him by the neck and bent forward, bucking him off as well. All three men were quickly back on their feet, however, and moving toward Superman as Luthor shouted, "Get him, you idiots!"

Superman glanced upward, and he and Harry locked eyes for a fraction of a second; Clark gave a slight nod, acknowledging Harry's help, just as the three men reached him, all three throwing punches at the same time. Superman dodged one, but the other two hit home, one in the head and one in the stomach. However, the blows didn't seem to do any damage. Superman cuffed one of the bad guys, who flew away, landing on the floor and sliding several yards before lying still.

One of the other men faced off against Clark as the third man ran to where a pile of survival gear lay, grabbing with a hunting knife as Superman dropped the second man with a punch that would normally have taken his head off, but now only knocked him unconscious. Something must be happening with the kryptonite — Harry saw Luthor moving one of his hands along a crystal on the console. At the same time Harry could see one of the sources of the green K beams glowing more brightly. He was turning up the radiation!

The third man thrust the knife at Superman — who just barely dodged it, the blade cutting a shallow wound along his side as the Man of Steel punched him twice in the face. The goon dropped the knife and fell to the floor, out cold.

Superman turned and strode toward Luthor. "Stop what you're doing to the shuttle, Luthor!" he said, reaching for the console, but Luthor grabbed him and jammed a fist into his back. Clark screamed; Luthor's hand twisted and came away, Harry saw a small piece of glowing green sticking out of Clark's back, and another piece in Luthor's hand. He had broken off a piece of kryptonite in him!

Kryptonite or no kryptonite, Harry decided, he _had_ to help Clark! But even as Superman slid to the ground he was muttering something under his breath, words Luthor could not hear, but Harry could: "_Harry, Lois is on the _Genesis_ — go save her and the shuttle. Go _now!"

Harry stopped. He wanted to save _Clark_, not Lois! He didn't even know Lois! But it was what Clark wanted — how could he ignore that? He hesitated a moment longer, then nodded curtly and shot into the Antarctic sky. The shuttle had been launched from Houston, Texas, he remembered — Harry had a general idea of where that was in the United States. He had to hope he could spot the shuttle and platform, get them to safety quickly somehow, then get back to the Fortress to help Clark before — before… it didn't bear thinking about, he decided. Sirius had died because he couldn't stop him from falling through the Veil in time; he wasn't going to let Clark down — he was going to rescue Lois and the shuttle, then come back and rescue him!

Mere seconds later Harry had passed into United States airspace and was rocketing downward from the fringes of space toward Houston, his eyes quickly scanning the skies below him for any sign of — there! He'd finally located the shuttle and aircraft lifting it into orbit. The rockets at the back of the shuttle were ignited, propelling both aircraft upward, out of the atmosphere.

As Harry approached he realized — these aircraft were _huge_ compared to him! Even this high in the atmosphere he could hear the whine of the platform ship's jet engines, the roar of the shuttle's booster jets. How in the world was he going to stop these things, even with the strength he possessed now?

Back at the Fortress, Luthor regarded the crumpled figure in red and blue on the floor before him, Superman's hand was covering his side, where Luthor had broken off the shiv, making it almost impossible to remove by hand. His men were all out cold, but it hardly mattered now — Superman was no longer capable of defending himself, not with that piece of kryptonite inside him. "A nice try," he said, waggling the broken piece of green K at him. "But I had a trick up my sleeve to match yours." He looked around at the sunlight now streaming into the Fortress through its crystal walls. "How did you manage this, I wonder?" When Superman didn't answer Luthor lashed out, kicking him in the chest. "I said, _how did you manage to do this_?" as Superman fell backwards, crying out in pain.

Luthor snorted contemptuously. "Never mind, I'll figure it out for myself." He turned back to the master console, bringing up a view from outside the Fortress. "Increased sunlight, interesting. But the sun is too low to provide this much radiation at this time of the year, so…" The view moved upward until a large, flattened parabolic mirror came into view, floating several miles above the Fortress.

"Hello. That's unusual," Luthor commented, then glanced toward Superman. "Strange that you forgot to turn on your defensive systems for the Fortress, but had the foresight to create a lens to focus sunlight on yourself." Superman stared up at him, his hand still clutching the place where the shard of kryptonite had pierced him. Luthor stared back, analyzing the Man of Steel's expression. "Or, _did_ you?" Luthor smirked at him. "Not that I think you're stupid or anything, Superman, but I don't think you had anything to do with that lens, did you?"

"That's for me to know," Superman's voice was barely a whisper, as he lifted himself on one arm. "It nearly worked, too."

"Evasion," Luthor said slowly, nodding. "Yeah, I didn't think it was you." He looked around the Fortress, trying to gauge where Superman's accomplice might be hiding. "You had help."

"There's nobody here but us, Luthor," Superman said, then coughed painfully. "You're becoming paranoid."

"Just because you're paranoid," Luthor pointed out. "Doesn't mean people aren't out to get you. You learn that pretty quick in prison."

In the skies over Houston, Harry had caught up with _Genesis_ and the 777 platform, now being dragged by the shuttle's main engines into the exosphere. He landed on the top of the 777's hull, looking at the coupling mechanisms with his X-ray vision. As far as he could tell, the couplers were all that were holding the planes together — if he separated them, the shuttle would be able to continue on into orbit. Behind him, however, the tail section of the 777 was being seared by the shuttle's rockets, and was beginning to catch fire, even this high in the atmosphere. Some parts of the tail were even beginning to glow red-hot with heat.

Moving to the forward coupling, Harry popped out the pins (they were thicker than his arm!) that were holding the coupler in place. The couplers separated, and Harry smiled with satisfaction until he realized that the platform and shuttle were now rotating away from each other — but the two back couplings were still keeping the planes together! Harry quickly moved back to the left coupler, disengaging it as well, then the right, and the two aircraft slowly began moving apart. Harry stayed with the shuttle, putting his hands against the underbelly of the spacecraft and listening to the vibrations coming from inside. He could hear the shuttle pilots frantically trying to make flight path corrections — the shuttle would need more boost if it was going to make it into orbit. Otherwise it would have to abort and land back in Houston. Well, he should be able to fix that!

Pressing carefully against the ship's underbelly, Harry began accelerating, adding velocity to the shuttle as he listened to the pilots inside. They were amazed that the shuttle was picking up speed, seemingly from nowhere, until they announced to Houston that they were now back on track to reach orbit. Harry slowed, watching the shuttle pull away from him, rising above the atmosphere, now able to continue its mission. Okay, one aircraft taken care of! He looked around for the 777.

It was several thousand feet below him now, and Harry could see that most of the plane's tail was engulfed in flames. Not good! Even worse, he could see that it had gone into a flat spin. On a broom, flat spins could happen all the time, especially during Quidditch matches, if two players passed each other going in different directions and their brooms bumped, but it was easy to recover from them (assuming you hadn't fallen off from the initial bump and spin).

But planes weren't magical, and one as big as the 777 was probably never meant to get _into_ a flat spin, much less get out of one! Harry sped downward after the falling aircraft. He caught up to it within seconds, but _how_ was he going to get it out of its spin? He stood on top of the fuselage, between the three coupling points, trying to decide what he could do as the clouds and earth spun around them. The thing was just so damned _big_, he couldn't figure how he was going to stop the rotation. The wings must be a couple of hundred feet across, he thought, and the body of the plane was at least that long — most of the tail section was aflame by now, a long, twisting spiral of smoke trailed up and away as they plummeted toward the ground. What was he going to _do_?

"There's nobody here," Superman insisted again, as Luthor turned back to the console, attempting to use it to discover who else was in the Fortress with them. "I told you, you're being paranoid."

Luthor didn't answer Of _course_ Superman would say something like that, whether there was someone else here or not. Well, when in doubt — inflict more pain. Luthor strode over to where the Man of Steel lay sprawled on the ground, taking the handle of the kryptonite shiv back out and holding in front of Superman's face. Superman flinched away, and Luthor grabbed his cape, pulling him closer. "I'm pretty sure," he said, almost conversationally, as Superman tried to twist away from the glowing fragment in Luthor's hand, "that between the beams of kryptonite radiation hitting you, this piece in my hand, and the shank buried in your side, that you're not feeling the love at the moment, are you?" Superman's eyes looked at him disbelievingly, and Luthor smirked.

"This is just a taste of what it was like for me, the two years I spent in prison," he said. "Well — not including most of the physical pain you're feeling. That's just a perk of the situation, I suppose.

"Anyway," he went on, standing and pocketing the handle once again. "This will all be moot shortly. You'll be dead, the shuttle will have dragged its launch platform out of the atmosphere so that everyone aboard will asphyxiate, and the extra weight of the platform jet will keep the shuttle from reaching orbital velocity, so that both will come crashing back to earth."

"The 777 has onboard oxygen," Superman said painfully, shaking his head. "They'll survive, and figure a way out." Luthor laughed.

"Did you forget that I have control over every bit of that aircraft?" he pointed out. "If I can force the couplers holding them together to malfunction, do you think the oxygen masks were difficult to keep from deploying?"

Inside the body of the platform airliner, most of the passengers were frozen in their seats, staring fearfully out the windows at the sky spinning about them, or screaming in terror at the smoke and fumes that had made their way from the tail section into the passenger section. Lois, predictably, had tried to make her way to the plane's cockpit, but found herself blocked by the blonde NASA liaison, who was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep everyone calm. "You can't go up there!" the liaison shouted at Lois (something she had managed to keep from doing during Lois's barrage of questions, before this disaster occurred). "The pilots will handle the situation!"

"We're in a flat spin!" Lois shouted back. "There's nothing they can do anyway!"

"In that case, you're not going to help matters!" the blonde told her. "So sit down and buckle up!" Lois wanted to punch her, but even if that would make her feel better, it wasn't going to help the situation much. She turned away, trying to think of something else she could do. But what? An out-of-control 777 jumbo jet was a bit out of her league. God, she could use a smoke before — Lois cut the thought off.

Harry, who'd been viewing the interior of the aircraft with his X-ray vision, and listening to the conversation through the vibrations coming through the fuselage, looked around again, trying to see what he could do to stop the spin. Only one thing made sense — he could try to oppose the spin with his flying power, hoping that the effect that kept objects he held while flying from experiencing high accelerations would keep the aircraft intact.

He flew out onto one of the wings, landing about halfway between wingtip and the plane's body, grasping the leading edge of the wing and deliberately slowed his flight, opposing the plane's spin. There was a low, shuddering groan, the sound of metal stressed to its limit, but the spin began to slowly decrease. Not nearly fast enough, however, because the ground was only several thousand feet below them now. And they were still over the skies of Houston — Harry had no idea how or where he was going to get the aircraft on the ground, even if he did stop the spin!

He pulled harder against the wing, hoping to slow the plane's spin more quickly. That didn't work, as with a screech of metal most of the wing tore away, sending it and Harry spinning through the sky, spraying fuel after it, which ignited from the exhaust of the wing's jet engine, creating a huge fireball explosion that tore the wing out of Harry's hands, leaving him holding scraps of metal sheet.

The plane and one of its wings had now parted company, leaving Harry floating between them, with a dilemma. Even as the airline fell away from him, Harry knew he couldn't let the wing fall into an inhabited part of Houston! He flew after the spinning wing, taking out his wand and pointing it toward the wreckage. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he shouted, and the wing slowed to a stop, floating in mid-air. That would hold it for a bit, Harry hoped. He stuffed his wand back into his pocket and flew after the now-damaged platform.

One good thing had come of this at least, Harry saw — the plane's flat spin was nearly stopped. Now in its place, however, the uneven lift caused by the missing wing was taking the aircraft into a roll. It was also going into a steep dive, heading downward at a 45 or 50 degree angle; Harry could see the passengers inside frantically trying to stay in their seats. He also saw Lois, now forced against one side of the plane by the spin, trying to make her way forward once again. If he was going to regain control of the plane before it crashed, Harry would have to stop that roll. And to do that, he needed make the plane symmetrical once again. Which meant the other wing had to go as well.

But even as he flew toward the remaining wing, it reached the limit of its structural integrity and tore loose from the fuselage, heading straight toward Harry. Harry closed his eyes and braced for the impact; his invulnerable body tore through the metal and bracing of the wing like tissue. Even as he continued on toward the now wingless plane, Harry saw that his arms were blackened from smoke from the fireball. He blinked, realizing that his glasses had come off in the impact with the wing. But there was no time to worry about that now.

The plane's dive was almost vertical now, and there was only a few thousand feet below him to the ground. He was flying alongside the plane, near its underbelly, and the only thing he could think to do now was to slow its descent enough that it he could keep it from crashing when it reached ground level. Fortunately, below him seemed to be relatively clear of houses or other signs of habitation — he'd have to hope there'd be room to set the plane down, somehow.

Flying to the nose of the aircraft, Harry began exerting his flying power against the downward motion of the plane. He felt a shudder of metal, and the entire plane seemed to _ripple_ as they decelerated. Some people inside were thrown forward in their seats, but everyone, including Lois, had managed to get buckled in again, and none of the seats themselves tore loose from their fastenings.

Harry's hands pressed against the nose, which suddenly crumpled inward, unexpectedly giving him more of a grip on the plane's superstructure, something he would need if he was going to keep the body from toppling and crashing as he stopped its downward momentum. The ground was only a few feet below him as the plane slowed to a halt, and Harry lowered the nose until it touched the ground; then, as the fuselage began to tip over, he flew up, about halfway along its length, catching body and lowering it slowly until it was a foot or two above the ground. He let the fuselage settle onto the ground with only a slight jolt. He'd done it — he'd landed the plane safely! And they'd been fortunate enough to come down in a place that was flat and level — perfect for setting the 777's huge body down on.

Harry looked around, trying to orient himself. Sounds were beginning to come to him from several directions — sirens and the sounds of vehicles approaching from the distance, and as he looked around he found he'd landed on a wide, flat expanse of asphalt. In the distance his vision made out signs identifying this place as Ellington Field, and it seemed to be an airfield. The vehicles approaching were police and rescue vehicles; they would arrive in something like a minute. There was also the sound of confused voices from within the plane itself, as the pilots were trying to figure out why they weren't all dead.

Harry looked down at himself. His clothes were black from the smoke and fire he'd passed through as the gas from the first wing had exploded, and his glasses were missing. He needed to leave, before anyone saw him, but he could hear people inside the plane moving about. He should at least make sure everyone was okay, though his X-ray vision showed no one was seriously hurt. Harry floated up to the plane's main entryway and tried to open it, but stresses on the hull from the wings being torn off had jammed the door closed. It was a simple matter to pull the door off its hinges, however, just as the emergency ramp deployed. Harry dropped the door onto the tarmac beside the plane and floated inside, landing just inside the door. He stepped to the center walkway of the passenger section, scanning everyone quickly to see that no one was hurt. Lois, other than a few bruises, was fine. She, along with everyone else, was staring at him in wonder. The plane, which had been filled with noise as everyone was relieved to find themselves alive, had fallen completely silent. A few flashes went off as photographers snapped pictures of him.

"Is everyone okay?" Harry asked. His voice was a croak — he was probably the most nervous person aboard this plane at the moment. It was probably lucky that he looked as messy as he did; it would be harder to identify him from the pictures, he hoped.

"Are you — Superman?" someone asked. The number of flashes began to increase as more and more of the press caught wind of a potential story. Lois had stood as that question was asked — Harry saw her looking intently at him, as if trying to recognize him through all the soot and ash covering his features.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I'm not him."

"Then who are you?" Lois asked, quickly.

"I'm…a friend," Harry said. He glanced around, toward the approaching rescue vehicles. Only a few moments before they arrived.

There was suddenly a barrage of light and sound as the press recovered en masse and tried to question Harry. He shook his head, putting up his hands, and moved toward the door. He had to get back to help Clark! At the door of the plane, Harry leaped into the sky, flying up and away by the time any of the passengers reached the doorway.

Somehow, Lois reached the plane's door first, her eyes scanning first the ground, then the skies, for any sign of their mysterious benefactor. If that wasn't Superman, she wondered, then what might his connection to the Man of Steel be? She looked back along the ship, seeing the twisted metal where the portside wing used to be, and wondered how anyone else could have saved them. The sound of sirens were getting loud as rescue vehicles sped toward the downed jetliner. Lois shook her head, feeling lightheaded, then suddenly fell forward, onto the emergency chute, and slid down it to the ground, unconscious.

=ooo=

By the time Lois's unconscious form had reached the bottom of the chute, Harry was speeding over Antarctica toward the Fortress. Landing once again near the access port in the Fortress's ceiling, he peered down into the control room, hoping that he had not returned to late to save Clark. The men who'd attacked Clark were still lying unconscious on the floor. Luthor, the bald-headed man, was at the main console, his hands moving deftly over the crystal controls.

"It looks like you were telling the truth, Superman," he spoke conversationally, as if he hadn't jammed a piece of kryptonite into the Man of Steel's side just a few minutes ago, Harry thought angrily. "There's nobody here but us chickens."

Superman's fingers were grasping at the piece of green K stuck in him, trying to pull it free, but his blood was making it too slippery to get it out. "I told you," he said; his voice was laced with agony.

"Still want me to surrender?" Luthor asked, sarcastically, then turned back to the console. "Let's see what's happening with our favorite shuttle — what the _hell_?"

He was staring at an image of the Genesis rising out of the atmosphere. The platform 777 was nowhere to be seen. How had it gotten loose? Luthor began a search for the airliner; above him, Harry pulled out his wand, trying to decide what to do. He couldn't wait much longer in any case — the other men would be waking up soon.

The Fortress finally located the 777, and Luthor stared in impotent rage as the rescue teams offloaded members of the press and checked them out. "How could this have happened?" He whispered, then looked around at Superman. "You sly dog," he said, in a deceptively jovial tone. Luthor touched several controls on the console, then turned and walked toward the Man of Steel, reaching into his pocket as he approached Clark. "There _is_ somebody helping you, isn't there? There pretty much _has_ to be — what with that mirror, and now the shuttle on course and the other aircraft safely on the ground."

Luthor reached down, grabbing Superman by the hair and pulling his head back. "Well, when they get back here, whoever they are, they'll find you dead and this place destroyed!" He pulled the handle of the broken kryptonite shiv from his pocket — the broken edge was still sharp enough to slit a throat, and Luthor reached around Superman to draw the edge across his neck.

Luthor suddenly slumped forward, unconscious, falling across Superman's body. Superman fell back, no longer supported by Luthor, and both men lay still for several moments. Above them Harry, who had just cast a Stunner at Luthor, put his wand away, then stepped into the access port, floating downward toward them. Even as he landed he began to feel nauseated by the green K beams sapping his strength. But his first priority was to help Superman get that piece of kryptonite out of him!

"How's it going?" he asked Clark, who smiled thinly.

"I've had better days," he replied plaintively, then frowned at Harry. "I warned you there was kryptonite present!"

"I can feel it," Harry nodded. "But we've got to get that piece out of you!"

"I can't get any purchase on it," Superman told him. "Maybe there's something in Luthor's equipment that can —"

"Don't worry," Harry said, holding up his wand. "I've got this." He pointed his wand at the piece of green K in Superman's side and said "_Accio_!" The chunk shuddered and Superman grunted, then shouted in pain as the kryptonite slid free.

Harry caught the piece automatically as it came to him, but immediately toppled over in pain. Clark held out his hand. "Give it to me," he commanded Harry. "I can throw it —"

"N-no," Harry gasped, shaking his head. "I have a b-better way…" His wand hand trembled as he pointed it toward the kryptonite in his other hand. Contact with the kryptonite was starting to burn his hand — he could feel the radiation searing his skin. He muttered the spell to transfigure crystal into rock, hoping it would work. The glow of the green K in his hand diminished, gradually becoming gray. Some of Harry's nausea disappeared, though he still felt weak. He released the rock, looking at his hand. There were still burn marks on his palm. Taking a deep breath, he pointed his wand at the handle of Luthor's broken shiv, lying a few feet away, and repeated the spell. It turned gray as well, and Harry began to feel a bit better.

"How do you feel now?" Harry asked Superman, who was still holding his side.

"Better," Clark said. "But there are still beams of kryptonite focused on us." How long will Luthor be unconscious?"

"A while," Harry replied, looking over at the unconscious man. "Who is he?"

"A twisted, evil genius," Superman told him. "He set up a crime empire in Metropolis and had been running it in secret for years when I first began operating in the open. Luthor took my presence on Earth as a personal threat, and it's true I would have eventually shut him down if he hadn't decided to strike first, by trying to break off part of the western seaboard into the Pacific Ocean, vastly increasing the price of the lands that would become the new West Coast, which he had been buying up for nearly a decade beforehand. He also managed to lay his hands on some kryptonite back then, and nearly succeeded in killing me with it.

"I managed to escape, with some help from one of his operatives who had second thoughts about his plan to kill millions of people, and put Luthor in jail." Clark frowned. "Unfortunately, it looks as if he found some way to elude justice, at least until now."

He tried to stand but gasped as the wound in his side sent a jolt of pain through his body. "Harry," Clark said. "Can you neutralize the K-beams like you did the pieces of kryptonite?"

"I think so," Harry nodded. He stood as well, a bit unsteady as the beams were now at increased intensity, and their effect no longer kept him and Clark at normal strength, but were actually weakening them, even with the extra solar radiation beaming down from the mirror onto the Fortress. After searching around for a bit, Harry found several of the beams along one wall of the control room, where he recalled seeing them earlier, during his super-vision sweep of the Fortress.

Approaching one of the beam sources, Harry pointed his wand and spoke the transfiguration spell: the green glow dimmed, then faded. Feeling a bit better, Harry moved slowly toward the next location, transfiguring that beam as well, then a third one. There had been twelve beams focused on them — three were now neutralized, though Harry could barely tell the difference. He went on to find the fourth, fifth and sixth beams along another wall, neutralizing them as well. This seemed to help some, but it was difficult to tell — Superman was still unable to rise, the wound in his side was still causing him pain. With half the K-beams gone, wondered if the remaining were compensating, somehow, for the loss of the others.

He found the seventh, eighth and ninth beams and transfigured them; finally, some progress seemed to be made! His palm had stopped hurting. Harry looked at it, but his skin was still blistered from the effects of the green K radiation. Near the control panel, Clark nodded at him; his wound seemed to have stopped hurting as well. Only three more to go —

"Hold it!" Harry turned, startled by the unexpected voice. Two parka-clad figures were standing at the far end of the control room. At the same time, Harry heard a faint _whup-whup-whup_ sound that seemed to be coming from outside the Fortress. One of the intruders, a brown-skinned young man, held a small automatic weapon. He seemed as surprised by Harry's presence as Harry was to see him. The figure beside them, whose features were obscured by a ski mask beneath the parka hood, held a small semiautomatic pistol. They looked at each other, then the man turned back to Harry. "Identify yourself!" he barked.

"No!" Superman shouted, to distract the man's attention. "Look, if you're part of Luthor's men, you can take them and go."

The man moved forward, brandishing the weapon. "No, I don't think so," he said, "If the kryptonite beams are working, then you don't have any powers, Superman. Otherwise you probably wouldn't be lying on the floor, unable to get up.

"I think we'll just wake Mr. Luthor and the others up," he said, continuing to move forward. "Then we'll see what they say about what's been going on here."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "That's not going to happen."

Stanford laughed. "It's not like you're going to stop me." He swung his weapon around to point at Harry and fired.

As soon as the weapon began to turn his way, Harry shouted "_Protego_!" and a Shield spell ballooned between him and the intruder, scattering the bullets from the automatic weapon. "What the _hell_?" Stanford shouted, firing again, this time a longer burst, but the bullets ricocheted off of Harry's spell. "Shoot him!" he shouted at the figure next to him, but the person didn't move.

Stanford spun towards Superman, and Harry willed the Shield Charm to move between him and the Man of Steel, stopping the automatic weapons fire from reaching him. The weapon's chatter cut off suddenly, and Stanford dropped it, grabbing for the weapon the other person held.

"_Accio_ gun!" Harry shouted, and the pistol flew through the air toward him. Harry caught it in his left hand, turning it on the two intruders just as one of the unconscious men lying nearby reached out suddenly and grabbed his leg.

"Watch it, Grant!" Stanford shouted. "He's got a gun!"

But Harry didn't bother with the gun, preferring to use a more dangerous weapon, one he had much more experience with. He pointed his wand at Grant and shouted "_Depulso_!" The Banishing Charm flung the larger man away, skidding across the floor until he slammed into a far wall of the control room.

Brutus and Grant, the other two men, who had been playing possum as well, stared at one another in astonishment at Riley's quick defeat. Harry gestured with his wand for the two men to join the first two figures.

Meanwhile Superman, spurred by concern over Harry's ability to handle Luthor's henchmen, had gotten to his feet, pretending to be recovered. "I'll take it from here," he said, holding out his hand for the pistol Harry held. Just as Harry handed it to him, however, a shot rang out.

Superman crumpled to the floor.

"NO!" Harry shouted, but before he could move Luthor, who was still on the floor, pointed the revolver he held at Harry.

"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "Even if you're like him —" Luthor nodded toward Superman's prone body. "— I doubt you're in any shape to dodge this. And it will pack quite a whollop." Harry could see green gleaming inside the gun's cylinder. Without taking his eyes off Harry, Luthor nodded toward his unconscious henchman, "Go get him," he told his men. Brutus and Riley moved, watching Harry warily as they walked past him and collected Grant from where he lay crumpled against a wall.

"The helicopter's outside," Luthor told his men. "Go make sure it's ready to go."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Stanford suddenly said. "We were a dozen miles out and it suddenly flew over on its way here! Why'd you send us after it if you could've just had it fly here on its own?"

"The situation changed," Luthor said, curtly. He jerked a thumb toward the Fortress's exit. "Go on — I'll be out in a minute."

The person who'd arrived with Stanford spoke for the first time. "You're not going to hurt him, are you, Lex?" It was a woman's voice. "He's only a kid."

"It's kind of hard to tell he's a kid," Luthor remarked. "Looking at all that black on him, I thought maybe he was trying to revive a minstrel show. Go on," he repeated.

"But boss," Stanford said, urgently. "There's something you need to know —"

"Tell me later," Luthor snapped. "Everybody _out_!" The others, carrying their unconscious comrade, made for the exit.

When they were outside, Luthor gave Harry a wistful look. "As much as I'd like to stay and find out what your connection with Superman is and where you came from, I'm afraid our business is about concluded. I'm glad I had these kryptonite bullets made — they came in as handy as that shiv did."

"Now what?" Harry asked, though the answer was staring him in the face — this Luthor had the same mad gleam in his eye that Harry had seen in men like Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, and Barty Crouch, Jr.

Luthor cocked the hammer on the revolver. "Sorry, kid," he said with a shrug, and pulled the trigger.

At the same time Harry suddenly pointed his wand, shouting "_Expelliarmus_!" The weapon fired as it suddenly spun out of Luthor's hand; something hard and hot slammed into Harry's trapezius muscle, just to the right of his throat, knocking him down. Momentarily stunned, Harry shook his head then pointed his wand back at the bald-headed man, but Luthor, who had turned back toward the main console for a moment, bent over and picked up the handle of the shiv that was lying nearby, then ran toward the Fortress's exit. Harry got painfully to his feet, touching his shoulder gingerly. His fingers came away bloody; he'd felt a ragged channel where the bullet had gouged him. If his Disarming Charm had missed…

Dismissing that thought, Harry ran over to where Clark lay facedown on the floor. Kneeling down, he felt a wave of nausea once again — the bullet in Clark's back was kryptonite, just like the other bullets in Luthor's weapon. Clark turned toward him. "What happened to Luthor?" he asked, weakly.

"Ran away," Harry said. He pushed the red cape aside, looking for the entry wound. He located it immediately — an area of Clark's blue suit that was stained with his blood.

"You — you have to go after them," Clark insisted. "Stop them before they get away. Once you're out of the Fortress your powers will return, you can —"

"No," Harry shook his head emphatically. "I went to save Lois, earlier — now you've got to let me take care of you."

Clark looked ready to argue, but he was certainly in no condition to keep Harry from helping him. Instead, however, he asked, "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Harry said distractedly, readying his wand for what was likely to be a very painful extraction of that bullet. "Nobody on the plane was hurt — a few bruises at most. Lucky, considering I nearly tore the plane apart getting it landed!"

"It sure made Luthor mad to see it safe," Superman remembered. "I — _uuuuhh_!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. He'd touched the area around the wound, trying to feel how deep the bullet was in. "I'm afraid this next part's going to hurt, too."

"Just get it out," Superman said, determinedly. "We need to get after Luthor as quickly as possible.

"Right," Harry said, skeptically. Clark didn't like this Luthor fellow, that was for sure! Come to think of it, Harry didn't much care for him, either, considering the man would have shot him in cold blood if he hadn't disarmed him. "Here goes…_Accio_ bullet!"

Superman cried out as the bullet popped from the wound, rolling away on the floor. Harry pointed his wand at it and transfigured it to gray rock. He then did the same to the remaining four bullets in Luthor's revolver. Then he stood up and walked over to where the final three K-beams were, removing them as threats as well.

With all the green K radiation finally removed, Harry stared at the blisters in his palm once again — they were tingling slightly. As he watched, the blisters slowly reverted to normal skin. Harry reached up and touched his shoulder where the green K bullet had grazed him. That wound was gone as well. He looked up to see that Clark was back on his feet again; he was examining his side where Luthor's shiv had entered. The wound was gone, leaving only a small tear in his uniform, and Clark nodded at Harry in satisfaction.

"I'm going after Luthor," he said, without preamble. "He needs to be brought to justice for what he's done."

"I can back you up," Harry agreed, nodding. "In case there's any more kryptonite that needs transfiguring."

But Clark shook his head. "No, Harry, you should go back to your family. Luthor is a dangerous man — I don't want you put in harm's way."

"Believe me, Clark," Harry said earnestly. "I've been in 'harm's way' a lot more often than you think!"

"You should get cleaned up before you go home," Clark said, as if Harry had not spoken. "They're going to wonder what happened if they see you like that."

"You're not even listening to me!" Harry said, angry now.

"I am," Clark said patiently. "It's just that…" he was silent for several moments, staring at Harry.

"I'll tell you what," he continued, in a different tone of voice. "If you'll promise to do as I tell you, you can come along. Is it a deal?"

"Uh…deal," Harry said, surprised by the suddenness of Clark's change of heart.

"And Harry — " Clark put a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for saving me." After a moment Harry smiled. "Let's go."

But the helicopter had somehow vanished from the sky, though only a few minutes had passed since Luthor ran out of the Fortress. Perplexed, Superman backtracked to several of the nearby stations set up by various nations studying the Antarctic region, trying to locate the helicopter, but it had seemingly vanished into thin air. Superman and Harry finally returned to the Fortress of Solitude.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, once they were back inside Superman's retreat. "I shouldn't have argued with you about going, it gave them time to get away."

"It's alright, Harry," Clark said. "I shouldn't have treated you like a child — you saved a lot of people today, including me. You should tell me more sometime about some of the other times you've been in 'harm's way.' When I was your age my idea of high adventure was running through corn fields and leaping from silo to silo on my parent's farm. Hmm… that's odd."

"What is it?" Harry asked, hearing some surprise in Clark's voice.

"The console," Clark said, pointing to the Fortress's main control panel. "There are a couple of crystals missing." Harry looked — there were two unfilled slots in the console. He looked back at Clark.

"I remember seeing Luthor turn back to the console for a moment, after he shot me," Harry said. That must've been when he grabbed the crystals. "But what can he do with them? Don't they only work in the console?"

"The crystals are very powerful," Clark told him. "You saw what Luthor was able to do with them using the Fortress's console. They can also be used to catalyze the growth of more crystal — that's how this Fortress was originally constructed."

Superman looked around the Fortress. "Now that Luthor knows where this is located, I can't leave it here — I'll have to take it with us and find somewhere else for it."

Harry looked around the vast main control room, only part of the entire Fortress. "This place must be as big as Hogwarts," he said, trying to imagine the magic necessary to move an entire castle. "I mean, I know you're strong, but — how're you going to pick up all _this_?"

Clark smiled. "Fortunately, Harry, I have a little magic of my own. Watch." He turned back to the main console, moving several crystal rods so they all seemed to be in alignment. He then took a smaller crystal from a section of the console and slid it into a slot that had suddenly appeared in the console.

"Follow me," he told Harry, rising slowly in the air, as the console began to glow. The two of them flew outside the Fortress, landing about fifty yards away.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, as the base of the Fortress began to glow even brighter than the focused sunlight shining down on it from the mirror floating miles above them.

"Just watch," Superman said, mysteriously. The glowing continued to rise up through the crystal columns of the Fortress walls, until the entire structure was shining brightly. As Harry continued to watch, awed, the crystal spires began to _shrink_, growing in reverse, and Harry felt a rumbling in the ground below him as the spires receded downward. Within a few minutes the entire Fortress had vanished. Superman raised his hand, holding it in front of him, and a small object lifted from the patch of ice-covered ground where his fortress had been and floated toward him. As it got closer Harry saw that it was a small crystal, like many of the others in the Fortress except it was a brilliant green in color. It floated into Clark's hand and he handed it to Harry, who looked at it, then back at Clark, with amazement on his face.

"That was brilliant," he said, meaning it. "You mean your _entire Fortress_ is now inside this crystal?" It reminded him of Professor Potter's trunk, folding in on itself so it was no bigger than a matchbox.

"All the information, yes," Superman nodded, taking the crystal back. "After I put Luthor away for good and recover the other two crystals, I'll find some place to rebuild it.

"By the way," Clark added, changing the subject. "I meant to ask how things went with Professor Potter. What did you decide to do?"

"We're all enrolled," Harry replied, smiling. "Ron and Hermione and me. Ron's younger sister Ginny wanted to go too, and her parents allowed it, although their mum didn't seem too happy with the idea. She doesn't like Professor Potter for some reason."

"Are you excited to be going to a different school?" Clark asked, interested.

"I think it'll be interesting," Harry said. "The magic's different than Hogwarts, and learning wandless magic will be useful if we ever find ourselves without a wand. As it is now, a wizard without a wand is rather helpless." His expression turned grim. "I suppose Voldemort already thought of that — we found out on my birthday that Mr. Ollivander, who you bought your wand from, had disappeared."

"Was he taken by this Voldemort person?" Superman asked.

"No idea," Harry shook his head. "There was no sign of a struggle, according to reports. But we're dead sure Voldemort had a hand in it, somehow."

Clark nodded. "When do you start classes?"

"A week from Monday," Harry replied. "It's going to be a long week, I think," he said, a bit ruefully. "I'm not sure Ron's parents are exactly well chuffed about the idea — not sure Ron is, for that matter. I think he's just going because me and Hermione are going."

"Do you think Ron can handle the schoolwork?" Clark asked.

Harry didn't answer right away. "Well," he said at last. "Ron's not thick, but he doesn't always try as hard as he could. Neither do I, for that matter, except in Defense Against the Dark Arts. We still get decent grades, however, with a bit of help from Hermione."

"She sounded interested in that school as well," Clark noted.

"She is," Harry agreed. "Ginny is, too, though I think she wanted to go because Ron's going." _Not that that's a bad idea_, Harry added to himself. "And I think Ron wants to go because Hermione and I want to."

Clark nodded thoughtfully. "I was thinking of paying a visit to Hogwarts, remember?" he pointed out to Harry. "But if you're all going to Professor Potter's school I may come visit you there — I'd like to read some of the books on magic, to see if I can use it as well. I seem to have some magical ability in me, if I was able to send that message to you through the coin you gave me."

"Oh, yeah," Harry suddenly remembered. "I wanted to tell you — I read an entire book in about five seconds earlier, before I came to the Fortress! And it's like — I can remember every word on every page that I read! That's how I was able to make that mirror to reflect the sunlight into the Fortress, and turn the kryptonite into rock."

"It's a handy ability to have," Clark agreed. "I did a lot of late night reading in college days, and some of my papers were literally written just before I turned them in."

Clark looked around, and Harry realized that they'd been having a conversation in 70 degree below zero cold. "I want to get back and check on Lois," Superman said. "After I find someplace safe to keep this crystal."

"Okay," Harry nodded. He was thinking about the promise he'd made to Hermione, to explain what had been going on with him for the past few months. He wasn't looking forward to it. He sighed, letting his chin drop onto his chest in silent resignation, then grimaced.

"Oi," he said, looking at himself. "I forgot what a mess I am!" He took out his wand and began siphoning off the soot and black with the _Tergeo_ spell. Within a minute he had gotten rid of most of the grime covering his front. It was more difficult reaching his back, however.

"See if you can do it," Harry handed his wand to Clark. "Just think about the dirt being sucked into the wand and say "Tergeo." Superman repeated the spell and the grime on the back of Harry's T-shirt and jeans were gone after several seconds of waving Harry's wand over his back and legs.

"Much better," Clark agreed, handing him the wand back. "I suppose my wand is still safe and sound with your other things?"

"Yes, and your money, too," Harry replied. "I suppose you'll have to go back to Gringotts to get the money for Ricky's tuition."

"I'll work that out with Professor Potter, when I see him," Clark said. "I have some other questions for him as well."

For now, however, Clark had another plan in mind. He had thought he would see Lois again when he returned to the _Planet_; eventually, Perry would hire him back, he was sure of that — he and Lois had made a good reporting team. But he had come so close to losing her today, after being away for five years, that he just couldn't wait any longer. After he dropped off the Green Crystal at the farm in a secure place, he would fly to Metropolis and try to make contact with Lois without letting anyone else see him. He hoped she would want to see him again as much as he wanted to see her.

When Superman didn't elaborate on what his questions would be, Harry decided he would hear about it some other time. "Well, I guess I'll head back to the Burrow," he said. "I'll see you around."

Clark smiled. "I'm always around, Harry." He raised a hand in farewell, then leapt into the sky, zooming out of view over the mountains in just a few seconds. Harry looked around at the barren expanse where, until just a few minutes ago, Superman's Fortress had proudly stood. He hoped Clark would be able to find this Luthor character soon and put him where he couldn't harm anyone again. He followed Superman into the sky, heading northward for England.

An hour or so later, six parka-clad figures approached the site where the Fortress formerly stood, traveling from the south. It had been a calculated risk, but Luthor had known there was no way to beat Superman's speed once his powers returned. The only way to evade detection was misdirection — they had flown the 'copter to the south of the Fortress, into the Antarctic wilderness, rather than try to reach the _Gertrude_ or one of the national stations lining the coast.

Setting down in a small valley, Luthor had ordered all power supplies shut off and everyone huddled together in the cargo section for warmth. It hadn't been pleasant — no one had bathed in several weeks. But Superman had been fooled, evidently, since they had not been rounded up. Now, however — Luthor had been expecting problems getting back into the Fortress, but not this — the entire structure was _gone_.

"Is this the right spot?" Riley was asking, looking around at the expanse of ice. "Maybe we took a wrong turn —"

"It's the right spot," Luthor interrupted, irritated. "But he took the entire damn thing with him!" He was glad, now, that he'd taken a few extra seconds to grab a couple of the crystals from the control panel. He would be studying them _very_ carefully to see just what the crystals were capable of. "Let's get back to the yacht," he commanded. "We've still got work to do."

He reached into a pocket of his parka, pulling out a plastic bag that contained a bit of gray rock — the handle to the shiv he'd broken off in Superman, which now had some of his blood on it. Between the crystals he'd stolen, and this bit of genetic material from the Kryptonian, Luthor figured there were some fairly interesting experiments he could perform.

=ooo=

The hero's welcome was waiting for Lois when she arrived at the _Planet_ late Monday morning, after her red-eye back to Metropolis from Houston. The area around her desk had been decorated with confetti and streamers, and a big banner spelling out _Welcome Back Lois_! was pinned along a nearby wall. There was cake and punch, and she shook hands and exchanged hugs with other city desk employees; even Cat Grant had hugged her before making a snide comment about wondering whether anything would bring Superman out of hiding, if not that disaster.

Richard was hovering nearby as well, trying to be protective, which she tolerated with some amusement. He meant well, as always, of course, but his protectiveness was a bit misplaced, even if appreciated — there was nothing he could have done, short of ordering her not to go the Houston, and Lois would never had stood for that, as much as she hadn't wanted to go in the first place.

As soon as the last piece of cake had disappeared, Perry had called her into his office for a conference. He stared at her for some time, apparently waiting for her to start talking on her own. When Lois refused to play the game White finally asked. "So, who was it?"

"Who was who?" Lois asked, blandly.

"You know who I mean!" Perry leaned forward over his desk, glaring at her. "Who saved the plane?"

"How would I know?" Lois shrugged. "He didn't give us his name!"

"And you're sure it wasn't Superman?" White persisted.

"Not unless he shrunk about a foot in the last five years," Lois retorted. "Besides, somebody asked him if he was Superman and he said no."

White sat back in his chair. "So, this was something new, then," he pondered. He looked at Lois again. "Do you think you can get an interview with him?"

Lois looked incredulous. "Chief, I don't even know what _happened_ to him after he set the plane down at Ellington Field! He flew off somewhere and I — well, I fainted," she said, a bit defensively.

"Just like the last time you met a certain super-powered individual for the first time," Perry pointed out, and Lois nodded reluctantly, remembering the helicopter accident that had thrown her off the edge of the _Planet_ building, and Superman catching her _and_ the 'copter and setting them back on the roof. It was strange, Lois recalled; when she'd asked Superman back then who he was, his reply was the same as the mysterious man who'd saved the plane she was on: "a friend."

"I smell a connection," White was saying, as Lois remembered this, "between Superman and this new superhero, whoever he is." He held up a photo that had come from the wire services. "He's going to have to do something about that costume, though — it's way too goth."

"I don't think it was a costume, Chief," Lois said, taking the photo and studying it. It was difficult to make out any of the person's facial features, the black on them had removed nearly every distinguishing feature. A detail Lois remembered from seeing him in person, not present in this black-and-white photocopy, was his eyes; they were a brilliant green. "I think all this was just dirt and smoke from the smoke from the engine fires and the plane's tail section. If you look closely, you'll see he's wearing a T-shirt and jeans."

White took the picture back, staring closely at it, then frowned and reached into his desk drawer for a magnifying glass. He glanced up at Lois, almost daring her to say something, but she just gave him a look of bland innocence. Scowling, White turned the glass onto the picture. After a minute he remarked, "You're right, that's what it looks like. That's the angle you can go for—the human interest. People eat that stuff up."

"Wait a minute." Lois put her hands up to slow Perry down. "You _just_ got my piece on the shuttle accident — I sent it in before I got on the plane home. Has it even been _published_ yet?"

"It's going out in this evening's final edition," White said, almost dismissively. "But I want a piece on _your_ impressions of this new hero, whoever he is. You were there, after all — you saw in him in the flesh."

"Yeah, and in the soot and grime as well," Lois added. "Chief, we didn't say _ten words_ to one another!"

"That'll give it some mystery," White replied, deadpan. "Go for that angle, too — get people curious, get them asking questions. Who is this guy? What's his connection to Superman? Where _is_ Superman, for that matter? Where's he been for the past five years? Stuff like that," White added, waving a hand to encompass any other details he hadn't thought of yet. He looked up at her, then raised his eyebrows at her expression — she was glowering at him. "What is it?"

But Lois just shook her head. "Nothing," she said, resigned to her new assignment. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good girl," White said, and Lois flinched, but kept her mouth shut as she left his office. _Good girl, my ass_! she seethed, stalking back to her desk and logging into her terminal. Perry wanted a story? Fine — she'd give him one, just like all little "good girl" reporters were expected to do!

But eight hours later she had barely made progress beyond a rough outline of her piece, distracted by her thoughts of Superman and the past. Five years and not a word from the man! Not — one — _word_! Not even a telegram from Bora Bora or wherever the hell he was. He hadn't even said goodbye — one day he was patrolling the skies of Metropolis; the next, vanished without a trace. Even Clark Kent at least had the courtesy to give Perry notice he was leaving, though she'd been out of the office the day he left, so she didn't have a chance to see him off, either.

She was getting a headache. Lois decided to get some air (and maybe a smoke) up on the roof. She took the elevator up to the top floor, then stepped out onto the observation deck, the _Planet's_ unofficial "smoker's area." It was nighttime, and the cool air helped clear her head, though if truth be told it was probably more of a craving for a cigarette than a headache.

Lois pulled a smoke out of the pack, then rummaged around in her purse — her lighter wasn't in its little sleeve in her purse, and she spent several moments trying to find it, growing more and more impatient until finally it appeared from beneath some tissues. Thumbing the lighter, Lois brought the flame to the tip of her cigarette.

The lighter went out.

Thinking a stray breeze had blown it out, Lois struck the lighter again, but once again the flame disappeared before she could light her smoke. Perplexed, she peered intently at the lighter, trying to figure out what the problem was.

"You really shouldn't smoke, Miss Lane."

_That voice_. Lois turned toward it slowly, not believing who she thought she'd heard. But it was. It was him. After all these years, it was _him_. He was floating just at the edge of the building. She stared at him, wondering for a moment if she'd been wrong earlier, or misunderstood what had been said when the person who'd rescued them denied he was Superman. It couldn't be a coincidence that he was here, _now_.

Superman floated toward her, landing several feet away. "Sorry," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean to startle you." Truthfully, he was very glad to see her again. It had been a long time since they'd talked, and he wanted to tell her why he'd left and what he'd been doing. His mother had been right, though; he shouldn't have left without saying goodbye.

"No, I'm fine, really," Lois said, quickly. "I just wasn't…expecting…_you_."

He nodded, not hearing the tension in her voice. "I heard that you had a bit of an adventure the other day."

Lois frowned. "How long have you been back on Earth?"

"A while," he answered, not wanting to lie but sensing that she would be hurt if she knew how long he'd waited before seeing her again. That was probably a mistake as well, Superman realized. "I wasn't sure whether I'd find you alone when I came here."

"Why?" Lois seemed irritated by this comment. "Afraid to talk in front of the press these days? Nobody even knows you're back — except for me, of course. They're all concentrating on that 'Mini-Me' version of you that rescued the shuttle a few days ago. Any comment about that?"

Things were not going the way Clark had anticipated this moment. He had thought Lois would be happy to see him again. Instead, she was treating him like some someone off the street she was pumping for news leads.

"I'm not here for an interview, Lois," he replied, calmly. "But, I will answer any questions _you_ might have for me."

She gave him a appraising look. "Fine," she said shortly, stuffing her cigarette and lighter into a pocket. She folded her arms across her chest. "Let's start with the big question, then: Where did you go?"

"To Krypton," Clark answered at once.

Lois frowned. "But you told me it was destroyed, ages ago."

"It was. At least," he added, "that's what the image of my father told me. But then, five years ago, when astronomers thought they found it… well, I had to go see for myself." He fell silent, remembering the long journey to the Arcturus star system, 37 light-years distant from Earth. It had taken a long time to get there, even in a spacecraft created with Kryptonian technology. And ultimately, his journey had been futile — there was nothing left of Krypton but a kryptonite meteor swarm orbiting the star, and another, smaller star that lay very close to _Rao_ (the name Kryptonians had given their sun), called the Companion. He would have to remember to provide readings of that star to astronomical groups — it was unlikely that astronomers had verified its existence yet, with current Earth technology.

"Well, you're back, now." Lois's comment brought him out of his reverie. "Did you find what you were looking for?"  
"I found a graveyard," Superman replied, not looking at her, and the look of pain on his face nearly made her forget how upset she was with him. He turned to look at her, his expression serious. "I read article, Lois."

Lois's expression hardened. "Yeah, so did a lot of people." Oh, yeah — _this_ was why she was upset with him. "'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman.' There's a dinner coming up, they'll be giving me the Pulitzer."

His face showed feelings of hurt and betrayal. "Why did you write it?"

How could he even _ask_ that? "_Why did you leave us like that_? How _could_ you?" She'd spoken in a harsh whisper, but she wanted to scream at him, _How could you leave _me_ like that_? She took a deep breath, composing herself, then added more calmly, "I've moved on — and so did the rest of us. That's why I wrote it: The world doesn't _need_ a savior. And neither do I," she added with finality.

Clark was silent for several moments, staring at her. It was strange how something that felt so…right, so necessary at the time you did it, could turn out to be so wrong. Had he lost Lois forever? He didn't want to believe that. "Lois, will you come with me?" he asked at last.

Lois shook her head, but instead of saying no, she asked, "Why?"

"There's something I want to show you," he said. She shook her head again, turning away, in spite of being a bit intrigued with what it might be. It would be too easy to let his…charisma, his sheer _presence_, sway her resolve to avoid her true… to making the same mistake she'd made before. But then she looked back at him, Superman was staring at her once again. "Please?" he added, quietly.

_Oh, hell_. She stepped closer to him, but as she reached out to hold onto him, she stopped. "I can't be gone long," she said, warningly.

"You won't be," he assure her. She slipped off her heels, placing a foot on top of his boots.

She looked up at him. He was smiling gently down at her. She might never have another chance to ask this question… "Why did you leave without telling me goodbye?"

His expression sobered, and he looked away for a moment, embarrassed. "I think, Lois," he finally replied, slowly, "that it would have been too unbearable for me to say goodbye to you."

She shook her head. "Personally, I think that's a load of crap. Did you tell anyone else?" she challenged him.

"Just my mother," he told her, honestly. She bit her lip, regretting her earlier comment. "It's alright," he told her, seeing her expression. "She already told me I should have said goodbye to you."

"Smart woman," Lois agreed. Then, because of the reporter in her, she asked, "This wasn't your mother on Krypton, was it?"

"No," Superman shook his head. "The woman who raised me here on Earth. I wish you —" he stopped, because it was a fool's wish to think that Lois and Martha Kent could ever talk about him. He'd had to close that part of his life off from Lois, to keep her from having a nervous breakdown. But it was so hard, not being with her.

Lois must have had some idea what he was going to say, because she said, "You know I have a fia— a relationship with Richard. Richard White, he's Perry White's nephew. He's a pilot — he takes me up all the time."

Superman offered her a small smile. "Not like this." Lois glanced to the side. They were already in the air, moving away from the observation deck, and Lois involuntarily clung closer to Superman, leaning against his chest.

After a moment she looked up at him again. "I forgot how warm you are."

They floated up into the night sky, above the _Planet_ building, rising higher and higher until Lois could see the entire city below them, sprawling and brilliantly lit. This high above the city, the sound of traffic had faded into the distance; it became so silent that Lois started slightly when Superman asked, softly, "What do you hear?"

She looked around, listening intently, but there was no sound. "Nothing," she replied.

"I hear everything," he told her, looking around as well. Lois, you wrote that the world doesn't need a savior… but every day, I hear people crying for one."

He looked into her eyes, his expression forlorn. "I'm sorry I left you, Lois." She looked back at him, equally somber, but had no reply for him. "I'll take you back now."

Gathering her to his side, Superman flew slowly downward toward Metropolis, but instead of going directly back to the _Planet_, he moved toward Metropolis Bay, flying only a foot or two over the water; Lois could see her reflection, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. At one point she glanced off to her right; whether by design or chance, they were flying by her and Richard's shoreside house — she could see his plane, moored to the docks outside their home, as they went by. She looked at Superman and he smiled at her, seemingly unaware that they had just passed her home.

They continued along the shoreline until the reached Metropolis River, flying past the Ivory State Bridge, then along Main Street and through the downtown district to the _Planet_ building, soaring up along its side, reminding Lois of the first time they met, when she was falling and he caught her, until at last they reach the observation deck and they slowly floated downward, her stockinged feet at last touching the floor.

It had been a magical trip, and Lois's anger had long since dissipated. He had let her go, but instead of stepping away she moved toward him, her mouth nearing his, and he did not pull away. But mere inches away from kissing, she stopped, and looked at him unapologetically. "Richard's a good man," she said, excusing her momentary lapse. "And you've been gone a long time."

Superman nodded slightly. "I know," he said. There was nothing else he could say, it was truth. He had lost her forever, he finally admitted to himself. He turned away and seemed about to fly off.

"I —" Lois added quickly, to keep him from leaving. She didn't want it to end forever, not like this. But what could she say that wouldn't sound like she was leading him on? "So," she asked, trying to sound casual, "will I see you around?"

He gave her a small, wry grin. "I'm always around," he said, remembering what he'd said to Harry not long ago. He raised a hand in a parting gesture, then rose into the air. "Goodbye, Lois."

She watched him fly away, soaring upward until the Metropolis night swallowed him from view.

=ooo=

As Harry approached the Burrow, he hesitated, hovering several hundred feet above the Weasley home in the early morning hour. After the experience of rescuing the shuttle and its transport platform and all the people onboard both aircraft, then the fight with Luthor's men in the Fortress, and saving Clark (and himself) from dying from kryptonite poisoning, his day still wasn't through.

He could imagine several possible scenarios once he entered the Burrow: Hermione could be awake and waiting for him to reappear, to quiz him about his behavior over the past few months. Even worse, she might have awakened Ron, perhaps even Ginny, and all of them might be waiting for him! He had promised to tell her what was going on, of course, but he'd hoped to pick a better time and place than in the Burrow at three a.m.! Harry let his X-ray vision sweep through the Burrow, to see who was awake and where they were.

But the entire house was asleep, surprisingly; Harry felt some relief at being able to put off the inevitable for a while. Hermione, Ron , and Ginny were all nicely tucked into their beds, all fast asleep, as were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry floated down to the access hole past the Weasley garden, making his way through the tunnel and up into the cupboard under the stairs. He replaced the floorboards that he'd removed coming in, then slipped into the hallway, remembering to put a Silencing Charm on the hinges of the door when they began to creak.

To avoid making any further noise Harry lifted an inch or so off the ground, using his flying power to float silently up the stairs and into his room, Fred and George's old bedroom. Still floating, he changed into night clothes and settled into bed, hoping he'd be able to nod off quickly even if he wasn't physically tired. Mentally, however, though he felt drain by the day's events he still wasn't sleepy.

Would a Sleeping Potion help him, he wondered? From what Clark had told him, poisons and other deadly substances couldn't hurt him internally, even though he could still ingest food. But potions and some plants and herbs were magical in nature, and he was still susceptible to magic. Clark had explained at some point during their time together in the Fortress this past summer that Krypton had been a planet with limited sources of edible materials, that at some point in their history Kryptonians had undergone genetic engineering that allowed them to absorb energy directly from Krypton's red sun, which they called Rao. Rao, though a red giant star, put out light that was less energetic than Earth's yellow sun; upon coming to Earth, however, Clark began receiving greater amounts of radiation, which super-energized his Kryptonian physiology and gave him his powers. Somehow, the combination of kryptonite, the lightning strike, and perhaps the Kryptonian crystal of the spacecraft, possibly in concert with Harry's magical genetic structure, had created a conduit between the two of them, intermingling their abilities.

Harry's mind kept replaying the events of their first meeting, as well as what had happened in the Fortress earlier that evening, and the shuttle rescue. His mind wasn't going to let him rest, it seemed. Harry tried to erase all thoughts from his head, trying to call up sleep, but the more he tried the more his mind seemed to race with details — flashes of pages from his Transfiguration textbook, discussions with Clark about training his super powers, what Clark was going to do to learn about his own magical potential, which they had barely explored. It was becoming a bit maddening, really. Harry wondered if he could _Stupefy_ himself…

Suddenly the morning sun was shining through his bedroom window. Harry blinked — he'd dropped off to sleep at some point without realizing it. He glanced at his watched, then blinked again in surprise. It was nearly nine a.m., later than anyone (except Ron) usually slept at the Burrow, except for Saturday mornings. Why hadn't anyone come up to wake him?

Harry got up, throwing on a new pair of jeans, a shirt, and his trainers, then padded downstairs to the kitchen. Normally by this time on a Sunday morning the kitchen would be empty except for Mrs. Weasley, who would be watching the breakfast dishes wash themselves, but today all of the Weasleys were still at the table, as was Hermione. Everyone looked up at him as he walked in the room.

"Morning," Harry said, wondering what was going on. "Am I too late for breakfast?" No one answered for several seconds.

Finally Mr. Weasley looked at his wife, who'd been staring at Harry with concern, and she started and jumped up. "Of course not, dear! What would you like?"

"Um, whatever you have is fine," Harry said, a bit concerned now by the looks and the silence he'd been greeted with. He glanced at Ron, who gave him a _don't-look-at-me_ shrug, then toward Hermione, whose expression was unreadable. He finally turned to Ginny, but she was staring at her father, who began to speak.

"Harry," he said, with an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. "I just want you to know that I thought it was important to keep everyone in the loop about this new school business…"

A steaming plate of eggs and sausages was set in front of Harry, and he nodded thanks to Mrs. Weasley, who sat down next to Arthur again. "It's just that — we're worried about you, dear," she went on, speaking into her husband's silence. "It's important for you to remember that."

Harry nodded, his mouth full of eggs and sausage, wondering where this was going. And why were Ron, Hermione and Ginny watching him so intently? What were they expecting? He swallowed his eggs and asked, "Is anything wrong?"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley glanced at one another. "We're just not sure about this American school you all want to attend," Mrs. Weasley went on, with a determined look on her face. "This 'Professor Potter' person seems a bit dodgy, and so does that — that 'magic' he's been teaching at that school."

Harry sat back in his chair, looking at the older Weasleys in surprise. He knew they hadn't been thrilled with the arrangement, as suddenly as it had been sprung on them, but his sense of Professor Potter was that the man was being straightforward and honest with them. He was a bit eccentric, no doubt, but…

"Dodgy?" he repeated, a bit annoyed. "From what he's said, both Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore have known him for years now."

"Neither of them like him very much, it seems," Hermione put in, unexpectedly. Harry looked at her questioningly. "Well, so I've heard," she added.

"Have you changed your mind about going, Hermione?" Harry asked her.

"No," she answered quickly. "I still want to go! I'm just saying, that's what I've heard." She glanced toward the hallway leading to the living, then back to Harry; there was an intensity in her eyes, as if she was trying to convey something to him but couldn't say it out loud, with the adults present.

Harry turned to Ron and Ginny, who had both remained silent to this point. "Are you two still planning on going?"

Ron's eyes flickered to his mother, but Ginny answered immediately. "Yes, I'm still going, Harry — assuming Mum and Dad don't forbid it." She gave her parents a mutinous stare, as if daring them to say otherwise. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at one another but remained silent.

"M-me too, Harry," Ron said, trying to ignore the bereaved sigh that escaped his mother as he spoke. "I think the Professor's on the up-and-up as well."

"But it's up to you, Harry," Hermione said, leaning toward him over the table. "If you decide not to go, we'll stay at Hogwarts as well."

Harry shrugged, perplexed by that comment. "Why would I change my mind?"

"There's someone here to see you," Mr. Weasley said. "He's been waiting for you to come downstairs, in the living room," he added, nodding toward the hallway leading to the front of the house.

Harry stood, leaving the rest of his breakfast, and walked into the hallway, not even bothering to use his X-ray vision to see who was waiting for him. From the expression on everyone's faces as he'd stood and left the kitchen, it was pretty clear who he was going to find there.

"Hello, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, as Harry walked into the living room. "I hope you are doing well this morning." Harry nodded, mutely. Dumbledore held out a small brown bag toward him. "Before we begin discussing your transfer to Professor Potter's school, would you like a lemon drop?"

Silently, Harry took a piece of candy from the bag and popped it into his mouth. The bittersweet taste of lemon in his mouth was perhaps a premonition of the argument that was obviously about to ensue. He'd expected, rather more than not, there'd be some kind of resistance from Professor Dumbledore to him leaving Hogwarts — he just hadn't expected it to come mere _hours_ after the deal was made. Getting the Dursleys to sign his consent form had only been the warm-up match, Harry realized now. This was going to be the main event.


	9. The Talk

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Nine  
****The Talk**

_Updated 22 October 2010_

"I wondered whether you'd let me go without a fight," Harry remarked, sounding mutinous, as Professor Dumbledore sat down on a flower-covered divan.

"A fight?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "Not at all, Harry! I have no objections to you attending Professor Potter's academy.

"However," he went on, raising a finger (forebodingly, it seemed to Harry). "I do want to make you aware of certain events, situations, and conditions that you may not have yet considered when making your decision, and which Professor Potter, in his zeal to have you attend his school, may have overlooked."

"I haven't forgotten about the Prophecy," Harry stated, flatly. "But things are different now for me."

"In what way?" Dumbledore inquired, politely.

_Is he kidding_? Harry thought, disbelievingly. He glanced back toward the hallway, but no one had yet snuck in from the kitchen to overhear their conversation. "Well, you know…the things I can do now," he said. "Like —" Harry moved at super-speed from in front of the sofa to standing beside it " — _this_," he finished his statement. To Dumbledore it seemed as if Harry disappeared and reappeared in an instant. "With the Anti-Apparition spells on the Burrow I wouldn't be able to do that with magic, even if I knew _how_ to Apparate."

Dumbledore nodded placidly. "I know that, Harry. In fact, I have been studying information on your…friend…this summer, in the hope that he would attend Hogwarts with you, in order to be given a — how should I say it? — a crash course in magic."

"I'm not sure that would work," Harry said, candidly. "He'd look rather out of place, wouldn't he?"

Dumbledore waved a hand airily. "There are ways we could make him blend in better than he otherwise might," he suggested. "Polyjuice Potion, for example, would be one way."

"Like the fake Moody used?" Harry recalled. "That seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore agreed (a bit too readily, Harry thought, as the professor's next words bore out), "But you should remember that Barty Crouch, Jr. was willing to do what he did in the service of Voldemort, to further his objectives."

"Which was to kill me," Harry nodded, grimly.

"Indeed, but that is not Voldemort's primary objective," Dumbledore pointed out. "Voldemort's primary goal is to restore the primacy of blood-purity to Wizarding Britain, then use it as a stepping stone to convert Europe, the Eastern nations, and eventually the world to a pure-blood magocracy, with Muggles and Muggle-born as the peasant class, half-bloods as vassals, and the pure-bloods as the ruling class, with himself ruling over all. He desires your death, Harry, because he believes you will try to stop him."

"Well, I _would_!" Harry agreed fervently. "Isn't that the same thing Gellert Grindelwald was trying to do, back in the 1940's, before _you_ stopped _him_?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, but his voice had become subdued, and he looked away from Harry for several moments.

"What happened to him after you defeated him?" Harry asked, after several moments of silence. "Did — did you kill him?"

"No," the headmaster replied, slowly shaking his head. "I — I did not wish to kill him. I turned him over to the authorities in Romania, and they imprisoned him in Nurmengard Prison, which ironically he had earlier built to hold his opponents after their defeat."

"Would that stop Voldemort?" Harry wondered. "Could he be defeated and put away in this prison , along with Grindelwald, for good?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly once again. "I do not believe so, Harry. Voldemort has powers Gellert never dreamed of; neither Nurmengard, nor Azkaban for that matter, could hold him if he wanted to escape, any more than they could hold me. And I do not possess all of the abilities Voldemort has."

"Then how could this come down to _me_?" Harry wanted to know, crossing his arms in a gesture of defiance. "If _you_ cannot defeat Voldemort, how do you expect _me_ to do so?

"The Prophecy is quite clear —" Dumbledore began.

"I know what it says," Harry interrupted, rudely. He recalled all the words using his super-memory, and quoted the relevant phrase: "'_Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives_.' Does that mean I have to kill him?"

"It means he must die at your hands," Dumbledore stated. "You do not yet comprehend the complexity of that statement, Harry."

"Well, I remember this part as well," Harry retorted, and quoted, "'_He will have power the Dark Lord knows not_…' Well, that part's right, at least," he admitted. "I _do_ have power he knows not. So I'm asking you, Professor — _do you want me to kill Voldemort_?"

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long moment, then took out his wand. As Harry watched, not understanding, the professor waved his wand at the four walls of the living room. All the doors and windows in the room immediately flew shut, each making a strange, squelching noise as they did so. Dumbledore then pointed his wand at the fireplace, which made the same strange sound. He then put his wand away and regarded Harry solemnly.

"I have made this room proof against all possible intrusion or eavesdropping," he told the young Gryffindor. "What I will tell you now is for your ears alone, though at some point it may become necessary to tell your friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as well. Please sit down, Harry."

Warily, Harry perched himself in a chair across from the divan Dumbledore was sitting on. Dumbledore composed himself, folding his long-fingered hands in his lap and looking steadily at Harry. "We were going to explore this information in more detail during the course of your private lessons this year, but I believe the time has come to 'clear the air,' as it were, between us completely."

"That would be a good thing," Harry agreed. But then he remembered, "Didn't you supposedly tell me _everything_ already, after the fight in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I told you everything about your involvement in Voldemort's plans, Harry," Dumbledore explained, patiently. "I have not yet explained everything pertinent about _Voldemort_ to you." He sat back for a moment, taking a deep breath, then continued. "The reason why Voldemort did not die when he struck by the Killing Curse that rebounded from you was that he had created a Horcrux."

"A Horcrux?" Harry repeated. "I don't know what that is."

"Very few wizards do," Dumbledore assured him. It is very powerful, very Dark and very evil magic — I have had every reference to it the Hogwarts library removed except one: a mere mention of the word, with no explanation of what it is."

"What for?" Harry asked, intrigued. "What does it do?"

"It is an object that holds a fragment of your soul," Dumbledore said, and the very thought of that chilled Harry to the bone. Professor Potter had made reference to a type of magic, _Incarnum_ magic, which somehow used magic generated by a wizard's soul. What kind of magic would use a part of your very _essence_?

"With part of your soul bound to a physical object other than yourself," Dumbledore continued. "You cannot be permanently killed until the Horcrux is destroyed as well — and the main power of a Horcrux lies in the difficulty of destroying it."

"But," Harry objected. "If you removed all the information about Horcruxes from the Library, Professor, how was Voldemort able to find out about them? How do you even know he _has_ a Horcrux?"

"Because you gave it to me, Harry," Dumbledore replied, simply. "The diary of Tom Riddle, which you destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets, was undoubtedly a Horcrux created by him when he was still at Hogwarts."

Harry nearly snorted in relief. "Well, that's the problem solved, isn't it? What's to keep me or anyone from killing Voldemort, now that it's gone?"

"I have my suspicions about that," Dumbledore replied, and there was a seriousness in his voice now that Harry had seldom heard before. "Could he have created more than one Horcrux?"  
"More than _one_?" Harry was dumbfounded. "How many times can you split your soul, Professor?"

"That is unknown," the professor replied, quietly. "But observations of wizards known to have created at least one Horcrux showed that they tended to became mentally unstable afterwards."

Harry sat back in his chair, his expression one of uncertainty. "I don't know if that helps us, Professor," he remarked. "Plenty of otherwise _good_ wizards seem to have been mentally unstable as well."

"I must confess you make a valid point there, Harry," the old wizard admitted, and in spite of the gravity of the situation, Harry thought he saw a twinkle of laughter in Dumbledore's eyes. It quickly disappeared, however, as he continued, "But the fact remains, we do know that Riddle created at least one Horcrux during his days as a student at Hogwarts — he therefore has had over forty years to create others, until his disappearance in 1981. Our task for this coming year will therefore be to ascertain whether he has created more, and to determine what they might be."

Harry shook his head. "_Your_ task, Professor. I'm going to be in America, remember?"

"Ah, yes…" Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, against his long, white beard. "Forgive me, Harry, I had momentarily forgotten that detail. Well, it seems that Hogwarts will be losing quite a bit this year, in fact—both Miss Granger and the two youngest Weasleys will be joining you in America, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," Harry nodded, a bit cautiously, but he was relieved to see that Dumbledore seemed to be coming around. "We think it will be a good learning experience for all of us — a different perspective on magic and spellcasting."

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed. "Phineas and his staff have some very interesting theories about magic. I only hope," he went on, his tone becoming guarded, "that you and the others will be able to make the change to that type of magic without too much difficulty."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, curiously. How difficult could it be?

"I only mean that you and your friends are accustomed to wand use," Dumbledore explained. "It may be difficult for you to make the transition to wandless magic."

"Professor Potter didn't think so," Harry pointed out at once.

"Professor Potter has not used a wand in many decades, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a small, sad smile. "He may not appreciate how difficult it is to do, after all these years. Oh, I am not saying it cannot be done," the headmaster quickly amended himself, as Harry's expression became more and more worried. "I'm sure you and the others will catch on, eventually."

It was not difficult for Harry to see through Dumbledore's cautionary words as a way to undermine his attitude about going to Professor Potter's school. Instead, he asked, coolly, "What will you do about Voldemort's Horcruxes, sir — how will you find them?"

"I have several avenues of inquiry available, never fear," though Dumbledore's voice seemed to carry a small hint of worry, at least to Harry's ears. "One of the reasons I had for inviting Horace Slughorn back to teach this year — he was Potions professor when Tom Riddle was attending school: I believe Tom may have questioned him concerning Horcruxes, as Horace may know nearly as much about them as I do."

"You might have just asked him when you saw him," Harry suggested, a bit diffidently.

"Oh, I have asked him," Dumbledore nodded. "I interviewed him some years ago, before he retired in the summer of 1979. In fact, he gave me a Pensieve memory of his recollections of that conversation."

"What did it show you?"

"It showed him refusing to answer Riddle's question and throwing him from his office," the headmaster answered.

"Huh!" Harry sat back in his chair, surprised. "I guess that's not what you expected to see, was it?"

"No," Dumbledore concurred. "Nor is it what actually happened, I would think. I believe Professor Slughorn manipulated his memories of the incident to cast himself in a more innocent light. I hope this year to somehow coax the real memory from him." Unconsciously, it seemed, Dumbledore rubbed his right hand, still blackened and shriveled from whatever had happened to it.

"Professor," Harry said, staring at the hand. "Can you tell me now, what happened to your hand?"

Dumbledore held his hand up between them, staring at it for several seconds. When he finally looked back, Harry was surprised to see the look of guilt in his eyes. "Harry, I hope you won't think me a foolish old man, but this is the result of another of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"_Another_ Horcrux?" Harry exclaimed. "I thought you didn't know how many he created!"

"I do not," Dumbledore replied. "But I was able to locate this object using several Pensieve memories I've procured over the years."

"What happened?" Harry demanded. "How did it curse you?"

Dumbledore shrugged fractionally. "I became careless. I should have realized at once this ring would have a curse of some sort on it. Yet, I did not think…" he looked away from Harry once again, closing his eyes in what seemed like pain or sorrow.

"Why did you put on the ring in the first place?" Harry asked, but Dumbledore seemed not to hear his question. When he turned back, his face had once again assumed its customary benign, cheerful expression.

"Now, Harry, I think we must come to a resolution concerning your decision whether or not to attend Phineas Potter's academy."

"I don't think there's anything to discuss, sir," Harry answered, reluctant though he was to sever ties with Hogwarts. "You have the Order, and the Ministry, behind you now, with Fudge out of the picture. I don't know what use I'll be here, except as a distraction, another person to protect from Voldemort. In America, I'll be learning new magic, new techniques — perhaps it will even give me an insight towards ridding the world of him."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "It might, at that," he agreed. "Let us hope that he does not send agents to America to find you — or worse, seek you out himself."

"It will be his mistake if he does," Harry declared, his fists clenching unconsciously. "I've fought him more times than I care to remember, but he's never had to face me like I am today!"

"Yes, with all of those extra powers you now possess," Dumbledore said. "But Harry, even _they_ are no guarantee you can defeat him. Voldemort commands vast powers, many of which he has never seriously tried to tap. If he were to discover that _you_ had such power —" the headmaster's expression became one of concern. "He might attempt to find a way to match, or even steal, your powers for his own."

"He couldn't do that, could he?" Harry's expression mirrored the professor's "I don't want to think what it might be like if he got any of these powers! I'll have to talk to Professor Potter about this," Harry decided. "I'll need to come up to speed on wandless magic as quickly as possible." He looked at Dumbledore. "Do you have any idea how you're going to find out about Voldemort's other Horcruxes?"

"I have Order members looking for information about anyone who has had contact with Voldemort since he left Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied. "It may also be necessary," he added, speaking tentatively, "to have some of the other students at Hogwarts, especially those who've had 'extra training,' for example in your D.A. meetings last year, to help me find the other Horcruxes, now that you'll no longer be with us."

"What?" Harry thought he'd misunderstood. "Are you saying you'd actually put that responsibility on someone else? Are you _joking_?"

"Harry," the headmaster spoke gravely. "The war with Voldemort will not stop simply because you're going away. You must understand that. We must find a way to stop him, with or without the Chosen One by our side."

Harry stood, probably faster than he'd intended, because suddenly he was on his feet and the professor was still staring at the place where his face had been. He looked up, blinking at Harry in surprise. "Professor," Harry said, trying to remain calm. "This isn't doing either of us any good. You may think I'm the Chosen One — I don't know. You may not want me to go to America — fine, I get that, too. The Voldemort Problem and all that. I suppose the Ministry won't be too happy with me, either. But I don't know if I'm ready to take on all this responsibility or not."

"And yet," Dumbledore pointed out, "you seem to feel ready to take on the responsibility of wielding super-powers — powers that, in conjunction with your magical abilities, could make you conceivably the most powerful being on Earth."

"_Second_ most powerful," Harry corrected him. "Superman is still stronger than me."

"You need training, Harry," Dumbledore said, insistence in his tone. "Specialized training, to help you learn to use your powers —"

"Excuse me, sir," Harry cut over him. "But I've _had_ training, from the best expert on Earth in the use of super abilities. And yet at Hogwarts, I've had five Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in five years! Now whose fault is _that_?"

Dumbledore looked stung by this remark, but nodded agreement. "I admit that the position has had its problems, Harry, but you've done an excellent job of bringing yourself up to snuff in that regard. And this year —"

"This year another old teacher is coming out of retirement to take the job for another year," Harry shrugged. "But I wonder what Professor Slughorn's going to do when he finds out I'm not attending Hogwarts this year!"

"I have every confidence that Horace will not abandon his post as Potions teacher because you have chosen not to attend our school," Dumbledore said evenly, staring at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"_Potions_ teacher?" Once again Harry was dumbfounded. "Then who's going to be —" a sick look came over his face. "Oh, no… not Snape."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him once again.

"Headmaster," Harry shook his head in emphatic rejection. "You can't be serious! Snape has wanted that position for years, but you've never given it to him! I — I was sure it was because you didn't trust him!"

"You are wrong, Harry," Dumbledore told him, flatly. "I trust Professor Snape completely. "No, do not ask me why," he held up a hand as Harry started to speak again. "That is between him and me. I will tell you this, however: Professor Snape is the reason why I am sitting here right now talking to you, and not dead." He held up his withered, blackened right hand. Even now, the curse that did this is slowly building its strength. Eventually it will break free, and —"

"_No_," Harry whispered, horrified by Dumbledore's implication of his impending death. "Isn't — isn't there someone you can do? Something _Snape_ can do to help you?"

"I do not think so," Dumbledore replied, looking at the blackened, withered hand that was slowly killing him, as one might look at a mosquito bite. "Severus and I have both examined the curse at length; Voldemort was quite thorough — neither of us knows of a counter curse powerful enough to overcome this." He looked up at Harry, and there was his usual smile once again. "I do appreciate your concern, Harry," he said, then added in a more stern manner, "Please do not say anything about this to the others, not even Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger."

"But, what if Hermione could help you?" Harry pleaded, desperate to think of some way to help the headmaster. "What if we find something at the American school that could stop this curse?"

"That is unlikely," Dumbledore said, dispassionately. He allowed himself a small smile once again. "However, one never knows what the coming year may bring."

The professor stood as well, placing his left hand on Harry's shoulder. "I do see now," he said, softly. "It was foolish and selfish of me to ask you to stay at Hogwarts when your ambitions clearly lie elsewhere. I will make the necessary arrangements for this year's tuition, and for your school records, to be transferred to Phineas's school, both for you and your friends."

Harry nodded, but his thoughts were churning with turmoil. This was not how he wanted to end things here, by seeming to abandon his friends at Hogwarts and in Wizarding Britain, especially with Dumbledore dying. Who would be able to stop Voldemort if Dumbledore was dead? While Ron, Hermione and Ginny were going with him, he was leaving behind others — fellow students like Neville, and Luna, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team — he'd even been made Captain this year! He would miss the other teachers as well, at least some of them — Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, even Professor McGonagall. Professor Snape? Not so much.

"What — what are you going to do this year, then?" Harry asked, wanting to know that Dumbledore was going to do something, _anything_ to keep himself alive until the threat of Voldemort was eliminated. But the professor had taken out his wand and was removing the ward spells from the room.

When he finished, he turned to Harry, with a fatherly smile that made Harry stare at his feet, unwilling to witness Dumbledore's apparent lack of concern about his own demise, and spoke gently. "Life goes on, Harry," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder once again. "Come, then — it's about time you finished your breakfast; I daresay it's getting cold." Harry followed the Hogwarts headmaster into the Burrow's kitchen, not really sure what he wanted to do now.

=ooo=

Tuesday morning's dawn over Smallville, Kansas found Clark Kent staring out the window of his bedroom, lost in contemplation. He'd returned home after his talk with Lois and had gone to bed, but hadn't been able to sleep. Whatever he'd thought about reestablishing a relationship of some kind with Lois, after all these years, things were never going to be the same between them.

His mother was usually awake by 7:30 every morning, but it was barely seven a.m. when Clark decided to get up. He put on jeans and one of his old flannel shirts, and padded softly into the kitchen, thinking to begin breakfast, but he found he wasn't really hungry. His mother's dog Shelby lay on its bed in a corner of the kitchen, watching him with silent interest. Clark started a pot of coffee, knowing his mother would appreciate not having to make it when she awoke, then sat down at the table, unsure what to do next.

There was not much left for him to do around the farm. He'd made all the repairs he could to the barn and grain silos, overhauled the tractor, tuned up her mother's old truck, checked all the fences for breaks and weak spots, and had even cleaned out the attic of the house. Ironically, he'd wondered if he'd have everything done before Perry White called to offer him a job back at the _Planet_, but the Metropolis newspaper's editor-in-chief had not returned his call yet.

There was still the problem of what had happened to Luthor, and how he'd managed to elude him and Harry; the helicopter carrying the criminal genius and his henchmen had managed to disappear out from under them. They could be anywhere by now, in fact. _And_ with two crystals from his Fortress's control console, Clark remembered, grimly. If just about anyone else on Earth had them, he wouldn't be worried, but with Luthor —! Perhaps it was just as well he was free to come and go as he pleased, Clark thought; at least he wouldn't have to make excuses to Lois or Jimmy about where he was going or what he was up to.

A small whine from in front of him brought Clark's thoughts to the here and now. Shelby was standing before him with an old baseball held between his teeth. Clark smiled. "Hi, Shelby. You want to play fetch, boy?" he asked, taking the ball from the dog's mouth. Shelby turned, looking outside the kitchen door and panting expectantly.

Shelby had been only a puppy when Martha had gotten him, a few years before Clark had left for Krypton, but he still remembered Clark playing fetch with him all those years ago. "Come on, Shelby," Clark said, walking outside and into the yard adjacent to the house and barn. It was here that he'd taught Shelby to play fetch with his old baseball; Clark smiled, appreciating that his mother had kept it all this time, just as she had kept his room ready for him if he return home.

Shelby was paying close attention to the ball in Clark's hand. "How far do you want to chase it, boy?" Clark asked. When Shelby was little he seldom threw it further than fifty yards; any more than that and the puppy had tended to lose track of the ball or become quickly bored with running after it. With a flick of his wrist Clark tossed the baseball about a hundred yards; it landed at the edge of the field behind the house, bouncing into the hay growing there, and Shelby was after it the moment it left Clark's hand. He chased it into the hay, leaping high over the waist-high grass, A few seconds later he came running back, ball in mouth, to drop it on the ground at Clark's feet, looking up expectantly at Clark, waiting for the ball to be thrown again.

Clark smiled at Shelby's enthusiasm, then started to reach for the baseball, but stopped. His wand was still in England, but if Professor Potter was able to do magic without a wand, then perhaps… Clark pointed his palm at the ball, willing it to move "magically," somehow. The ball remained motionless for some time as Clark concentrated harder and harder on making it move. Shelby was watching him, turning his head from side-to-side, as if perplexed by Clark's seeming inability to just _pick up the ball and throw it_. Clark could do things no other human could do, Shelby knew; he was the only human who could outrun him in a foot race, for example. Clark could move things that no other human could do, though he never did so when anyone other than Shelby was around, or his mother. Now he watched Clark, ears up and alert, to see what he'd do next, when suddenly the baseball _moved_.

It was just a little, but the ball had rolled forward an inch or so, and Shelby was instantly tensed and ready for it to move again. He would make sure it would not get away! But then the ball did an incredibly strange thing: it lifted straight into the air and began to float! Shelby barked at it, warning the ball not to try and get away, but it began to waft upward, toward Clark's hand. Shelby had seen Clark float like this, but he had never seen him make something _else_ float before. He watched, mesmerized, as the ball floated into Clark's open hand.

Clark finally relaxed once the ball touched his palm. He had done it! He felt worn out by the mental exertion, but he'd made the baseball float into his hand! He stared at the ball, feeling the old, rough cover and the worn stitching. It wasn't much of a beginning, but it was something. Perhaps, before he went back to being Superman once again, he could take some time and learn how to use this part of power he now possessed. Harry had taken easily to his super-powers, and had proven himself to be a valuable ally; maybe Clark could return the favor at some point, especially with that Voldemort character who was skulking around England causing problems.

Shelby was still waiting for him to throw the ball, but Clark had grown tired of the game. He drew back and threw the ball — not very hard, because he could easily put it into orbit if he used his full strength, but enough to send it sailing out over the fields, to the far corner of the section of land the Kent farm was located on, landing near the edge of a corn field. Shelby had started running once again, but stopped after a few seconds, unsure where the ball had disappeared to. He looked back at Clark with a small whine of disappointment.

"Clark?"

Clark turned toward the house, having heard his mother call his name. She was not looking outside, however; his super-vision saw her standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. She had just gotten up, then. He walked up to the back door and stepped back into the kitchen just as she was getting a cup from the cupboard for her morning coffee.

"Good morning, Mother," he said, from the doorway.

"Good morning," she nodded. "Thank you for making the coffee, Clark."

"I was going to start some breakfast, but I thought I'd wait until you were up."

"Don't bother," she said, shaking her head. She took a sip of black coffee, then picked up the sugar bowl and shook a bit into her cup. "A little strong this morning," she said with a wry smile.

"Sorry," Clark looked a bit surprised. "I thought you liked your coffee strong in the morning."

"Well, it depends on the day," she said, as if it didn't really matter. She was silent for a few moments. "I saw that story on the news the other day — the thing about the shuttle…" She was giving Clark a quizzical look. "That person, the one that somehow saved the shuttle. Was that…?"

Clark nodded. "It was Harry."

"Where were _you_ when this happened?" Martha Kent asked him.

"I was — indisposed," Clark answered, evasively. It was going to be worrisome for her if he admitted he was about half-dead when Harry was busy saving the _Genesis_ shuttle. "I was…taking care of some other business…and I thought Harry could handle it."

Martha was frowning at him now. "He didn't look like he could handle it very well — at least, not what they showed of him on TV!"

"What do you mean?" Clark asked.

"He looked pretty scared in front of all those cameras," Martha said, bluntly. "He looked like he was dressed in an old T-shirt and jeans, from what I could see — I have it on tape in the VCR. It was just fortunate that he was covered with all that smoke and grime, or they'd be matching him against some school photograph or something like that."

"It won't be quite that easy, Mother," Clark shook his head. "The school Harry goes to is well off the beaten path."

Martha stood suddenly. "That reminds me," she said, and walked into the other room, returning a few moments later with a letter in her hands. "This came for you yesterday, though I don't know how it got in the mailbox — it doesn't have a stamp or postmark on it." She handed it to Clark.

Clark stared at the front of the envelope, reading what was written there.

_Mr. Clark Kent_  
_The Kent Farm_  
_Smallville, Kansas_

There was no return address, but the envelope itself was a clue to where it had come from — it was made from parchment rather than paper; its back flap was sealed with red wax into which a small emblem had been impressed. He could make out the letters "Potter's Field Magical Academny" pressed into the wax.

"It seemed important," Martha said. "I'd hoped you be home soon, to open it."

Clark nodded. "It's from that professor I told you about, the one that's going to teach Ricky how to use magic." Clark had told his mother about the situation Monday after returning from the Antarctic and placing the Green Crystal in the hidden cellar beneath the barn, where the ship that had brought him to Earth had originally been stored by his father, Jonathan. Breaking the seal, Clark opened the envelope, took out the letter, and began reading it.

* * *

_Dear Clark,_  
_Thank you for making it possible for your friend Lana's son, Ricky Dolan, to attend Potter's Field Magical Academy. I know he will be an eager and enthusiastic student, and I see much potential in him. I am myself eagerly awaiting the arrival of Harry Potter and his friends as well._

_I would like to discuss a few matters with you in person. To simplify things, this letter will teleport you to my office between the times of 5:00 and 5:05 pm your time on Monday through Friday if you hold it in your hand. Please do not worry about bringing the tuition for Ricky, however, we can take care of that anytime._

_Thank you for your time and I look forward to seeing you soon._

_Sincerely,_  
_Professor Phineas Potter_  
_Dean, Potter's Field Magical Academy_

* * *

"Anything important?" Martha asked, as he finished reading. Clark knew this was her way of asking, _Anything I should be worried about?_

"No," Clark said. "Just a note from Professor Potter, asking me to come see him this afternoon. I should be home in time for dinner, though," he smiled.

"Good," she said, smiling back. "You missed my pot roast last night." She took a sip of coffee, then casually added, "How's Lois doing?"

"Lois?" Clark repeated, looking at his mother. He hadn't mentioned anything about Lois to her…

"Isn't that where you were yesterday?" Martha asked, giving him a _don't-try-to-lie-to-your-mother_ look.

"I _may_ have flown to Metropolis yesterday," Clark admitted, not looking at his mother, "to look in and see how she was."

"Did you talk to her?" Martha wanted to know. After a moment Clark nodded, slowly. "As Superman?" Again, Clark nodded.

"Well, for goodness sake, Clark! Don't make me guess! What did she say?" Martha demanded. "Was she happy to see you again?"

"N-not exactly," Clark shook his head. "She has a fiancé, though she wouldn't quite admit it to me." When Martha frowned, Clark added, "It's Richard White — he's Perry White's nephew.

"Oh, Clark, I'm so sorry." Martha put down her cup and walked over, giving him a hug of reassurance. Clark accepted the consolation silently; he had since resigned himself to losing Lois, once he realized he'd had no right to expect her to wait for him.

His mother let go and stepped back, looking at him through eyes bright with tears. "What will you do now?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"It's alright, Mother," Clark answered, calmly. "As you told me, I should have been more open with her before I left."

"Didn't she write something about you while you were gone?" Martha asked, trying to recall what she'd heard — something on the radio last year. "Wasn't it about what you did for the world?"

"Something like that," Clark said. Lois had actually written why the world _didn't_ need him around, and though he could hear people all the time wondering what had happened to him, especially in the past few days since the shuttle incident, no one had wondered about _his_ needs — except for Martha Kent.

And Harry Potter, he added to himself. Harry had, in fact, saved his life _twice_ now — the first time when he was incapacitated by the green K that had stuck to his spaceship on his journey home, the second time from Lex Luthor's attempts to kill him.

"Anyway, things will be fine, Mother," Clark assured her once again. "For now, though, I think it's time for breakfast. If you're not hungry I'll just get it myself —"

"Don't be silly," she held up a hand, preventing him from getting any closer to the stove. "I can still make my son breakfast while he's staying with me." She set about preparing something for him to eat, and Clark sat at the table, sipping coffee and rereading Professor Potter's letter. He would be prepared this afternoon when the time came for him to appear in the wizard's office.

=ooo=

It had been over a day since Harry's conversation with Dumbledore. After their talk, he and the professor had returned to the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were waiting for them, and announced that Harry would be going to Potter's Field that year. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared a bit taken aback by this, as if they'd expected something else, but Ron, Ginny and Hermione all looked pleased. Harry only wished he could feel as pleased as they looked.

Now it was simply a matter of waiting until the following Monday, when they would be transported, in an as-yet unknown manner, from the Burrow to the school's hidden location somewhere in Montana.

"I wonder if they have any books about the school," Hermione mused aloud during lunch on Tuesday, in the Burrow's kitchen. "It's a shame we won't be able to get any books until we get there." Unlike Hogwarts, the bookstore for Potter's Field was located at the school itself, rather than in a separate establishment.

"Only _you_ would want to do schoolwork before actually _starting_ school, Hermione," Ron said, finishing off the pot pie he was having.

"I wouldn't call that schoolwork, Ron," Hermione pointed out, a bit defensively. "I would call that taking an interest in the type of education one is going to receive." Ron glanced at Harry and gave an eye roll, though Harry did not react.

"It wouldn't hurt you to take more interest either, Ron Weasley," Hermione went on, trying to build up his school pride. Though both she and Ron had been prefects last year, Ron had put almost no effort into it beyond bossing around his younger classmates when it suited him. "You're not going to be a prefect any more — no more special privileges for you this year."

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, looking up from his empty pot pie shell. "I didn't think o' that." He sounded vaguely disappointed. He looked at Harry. "I guess we won't be playing Quidditch this year either, will we?"

"No, I guess not," Harry said, in a tone that made it evident he thought that should have been obvious to Ron already.

"Blimey," Ron said, sitting back in his chair. "I was thinking of trying out for Keeper this year."

"Well, I guess you'll be spared the agony of defeat, then," Ginny quipped. Ron scowled at her and she smirked back at him.

After lunch, Harry went back up to Fred and George's old bedroom, still feeling uneasy about his decision to leave Hogwarts, when the door suddenly opened and Hermione slipped into the room. Harry looked at her, surprised. "What?" he asked.

"What?" she repeated, almost mockingly. "Haven't you forgotten something, Harry?"  
Harry snorted softly. "Not likely," he said, almost to himself — his recall was so sharp now he could go through his memories like a continuous Pensieve session. So why was she asking him this? Harry went through his conversations with her over the past few days. "Oh," he said aloud, as he reached the part in his room a few days ago, when he needed to get out of the Burrow to see what was happening with Clark, "_that_."

"Yes, _that_," she said, marching over and sitting on the bed beside him. "Did you think _I_ was going to forget?"

"No, that's not very likely, either," Harry agreed with her.

"Darn straight it's not," she said, giving him an exasperated look. "I've been waiting two days for you to tell me something, now — I think I've waited long enough."

Harry sighed. Well, he _had_ promised to tell her. "Okay," he said, trying to think how to word what he was going to say. "A few months ago —"

"A few _months_?" Hermione said loudly. "How long have you been keeping this a secret?"

"Let me finish!" Harry hissed. "A few months ago, I noticed something was happening to me. My magic was getting more powerful. I could do things I couldn't do before."

"Such as —?" Hermione prompted.

"Oh," Harry said, not sure how much detail to go into. "Like — well, read faster, you saw that," he reminded her. "I can move faster, too. I can see through objects. I can fly."

"Fly?" Hermione said, dubiously. "I thought it wasn't possible to use magic to fly unaided."

"Well, I didn't make the rules, Hermione," Harry informed her. "But I can fly nevertheless."

There was a knock at the door. "If you can see through objects," Hermione said in an undertone, "then who's outside the door?" Harry glanced through the door; it was Ron, listening to see if he could hear anything from inside the room.

Harry turned back to Hermione and at the same time, Ron said, "Psst! It's Ron!"

"It's Ron," Harry said, right after Ron spoke.

"Good guess," Hermione said, sounding derisive. "Right after he told you." To the door she said, "Come in, Ron!"

Ron stepped into the room, looking at the two of them on the bed. "What's coming off here?" He asked in a demanding tone.

"Nothing!" they both chorused. Harry fell silent, but Hermione continued, "Harry was just telling me the secret he's been keeping from us for the past few months."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron said, looking surprised and interested. He walked over to stand beside the bed in front of both of them. "What is it?"

Hermione turned to Harry with a bland look. "Go ahead, Harry."

Harry didn't much appreciate her attitude, but he supposed he'd be just as upset if she'd kept an important secret about herself from him and Ron. "I was just telling Hermione about my magic increasing a couple of months ago," he said, to bring Ron up to speed. "I can do things now I never could before."

"Like what?" Ron wanted to know.

"Well, like —" Harry looked around, deciding to show them what he meant. He rolled backwards over the bed, letting his flying power make him seem to flip over gracefully onto his feet on the opposite side. Taking hold of the side of the bed, he lifted it into the air with Hermione still on it. "— this," he finished.

Hermione gave a small shriek of surprise as the bed moved upward in the air. Ron gaped, gobsmacked, as he looked up at Hermione. "H-Harry," Hermione said shakily, "put the b-bed down, please!"

Harry complied, setting the bed down slowly. It probably looked impressive to Ron and Hermione, but they didn't know that Harry had caught an _entire jumbo jet_ just a few days ago (_well, minus the wings_, he reminded himself).

"I can also fly, contrary to popular opinion about that magical ability," Harry continued. He lifted into the air a few feet, then folded his legs beneath him as he floated forward and landed back on the bed where'd he'd started out. Ron and Hermione were both staring at him in shock. When they didn't say anything for several seconds, Harry decided to head off their obvious question by adding, "I didn't know if this condition was going to be permanent or not, so I kept quiet about it until now."

"Whoa," Ron breathed. "That was brilliant!"

"Have you told anyone else about this?" Hermione asked. "Did you tell Dumbledore about it, when he was here? There could be something seriously wrong with you, Harry!"

Trust _Hermione to find the dark cloud around the silver lining_, Harry thought, with irritation. "Dumbledore knows about it," he said, shortly. "And now you know about it, but that's it." Obviously, he wasn't going to say anything about Clark.

But Hermione was already ahead of him there. "Does that reporter know anything?" she asked, suspiciously. "I mean, he knows about the magic, obviously, if he was there when Professor Potter talked to us, but does he know that your powers aren't normal. What did you tell him?"

"I haven't shown him anything he didn't already know about," Harry said, and that was the truth. "Clark knows not to say anything about magic to the wrong people."

"I hope not," Hermione said, fervently. "You know how unpredictable those types can be when a good story comes along. Look at Rita Skeeter," she reminded him. "She couldn't wait to throw you to the wolves of public opinion when there was a story to be had."

"Clark's not like her," Harry insisted. "All Skeeter wanted was publicity — she wanted the notoriety of breaking big news stories. Clark wouldn't do anything like that, even if he found out about my other abilities." Which Harry knew for a _fact_.

"I hope not," Hermione said again. She folded her arms across her chest, giving him a skeptical look. "Well, if he's half as good at keeping a secret as you are, Harry, I suppose you're safe enough.

"Now, why don't you tell us some more about these new magical abilities of yours?" she suggested, sitting down on the bed again and giving Harry a look of intense interest.

"There's not much more than what I told you," Harry shrugged, not wanting to give too much of what he could do away. If Hermione found out everything he was capable of, she might connect his abilities with Superman's, even if the Fidelius Charm kept his real identity magically hidden. "I can fly, my strength and speed has increased some, and I can see through solid objects."

"How fast can you move?" Ron asked, eagerly. "I'd bet you could give You-Know-Who a run for his money now, couldn't you?"

"Maybe," Harry said, but without much enthusiasm. Ron's comments had reminded him that he — that _they_ — were leaving their lives here behind for the next ten months, to go off on some big magical adventure, while Dumbledore persuaded some of his schoolmates to help him in the hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes. They didn't even know how many there were…

"Do you think," Harry said suddenly, "it's a good idea for us to do this?"

"You mean, go to America to learn a new type of magic?" Ron looked at Harry curiously. "I thought that's what you and Hermione wanted to do, isn't it?"

"Yes, but…"

"Are you having second thoughts, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking concerned.

"Well —"

"Because, I'd understand if you didn't want to go," she added quickly, before Harry could say any more. "I mean, it's a big step to go study in a foreign land, especially when you're…" her voice trailed off as Harry gazed at her unsmilingly.

"When you're the 'Chosen One'?" Harry finished.

"No," she shook her head quickly. "Well, I mean — you _are_ the Chosen One, aren't you?"

"I have no idea," Harry said, coldly. "Do you?"

"Well, there's the prophecy —" Ron began.

"I know," Harry and Hermione both said at the same time. "The difference is," Harry went on, "I've heard the entire thing, while the _Prophet_ only has pieces of it."

"Then you ought to know, better than either of us, whether you're the Chosen One or not," Hermione pointed out, reasonably. "Do _you_ think it's right to go off to America while Voldemort terrorizes Wizarding Britain, Harry?"

"I don't know," Harry said, and that was the truth. He had no idea what he should do now. It was ironic — he'd expected Dumbledore to come in and try and talk him out of leaving, but here he was, almost ready to talk himself out of it!

"Well, you'd better make up your mind," Hermione told him, seriously. "You've got less than a week before we have to leave, either on the Hogwarts Express or however we're going to get to America."

=ooo=

Shortly before five p.m. on Tuesday afternoon, Clark gathered up the envelope and letter from Professor Potter, told his mother he would be back in about an hour, and excused himself to the barn. He was not quite sure what was going to happen, but if there was going to be some type of magical transport he didn't want it frightening her or messing up the house. Clark knew what had happened when Professor Potter teleported Harry and his friends away to visit his school, but he decided not to take any chances.

At five p.m. he slid the letter out of the parchment envelope and opened it, looking at the text. He stood there for several seconds, wondering if anything was going to happen, when the letter itself began to glow. Brighter and brighter it became, until with a white flash the barn suddenly seemed to fall away from him, leaving Clark moving headlong into a swirling darkness. The effect was only momentary, however; light returned immediately and Clark found himself standing in the middle of a somewhat cluttered office, an office filled with objects he'd never seen before.

It was oddly shaped, this office — rather like a pentagram, Clark saw, with five walls instead of four. Large wooden shelves dominated several walls, shelves filled floor to ceiling with books of all kinds and sizes. Overhead was a large floating model of the Solar System, with the sun and planets arranged, as far as Clark could tell, exactly at the same positions in their orbits as the real planets were. The center of the room, where he was standing, was open, with a thin but soft carpet; off on one side was an old, wooden desk covered with books, papers, and other objects Clark could fathom no purpose for. There were a couple of smaller chairs in front of the desk, and around the edges of the room were several small tables and curios, each one filled with other incomprehensible objects.

Behind the desk sat Professor Phineas Potter, scribbling something on a piece of paper with a large feather quill. He had glanced up as Clark appeared but went back to writing. "Hello, Clark," he said at last, not looking up again. "Let me just get this last thought written down and I'll be right with you." He scribbled for several moments then slid the quill into a holder and looked up at Clark again.

"Welcome, Clark," Potter stood and offered his hand across the desk. Clark took it and they shook hands; a chair slid up behind Clark on its own as Potter let go of his hand. "Have a seat." Clark looked at the chair, making sure it wasn't going anywhere, then sat down on it. "May I offer you something to drink?" Potter inquired, politely.

"A glass of water would be fine," Clark answered, being polite as well. He was still looking around as Potter gestured to the desk in front of him; a glass filled with water and ice appeared before Clark.

"There you are, my boy. Drink up!" Clark looked at the glass, only mildly surprised, and took a perfunctory sip before looking at the elderly wizard once again.

"Interesting office," Clark commented.

"Yes," Potter nodded, a bit ruefully. "It's awfully cluttered these days, though — I'll have to get it cleared out soon, or the next Dean will have quite a time moving in!"

"I hope that won't be for a long time, sir," Clark offered graciously.

"Thank you, my boy, thank you very much!" Potter beamed at him, sitting down again.

"So, what did you want to see me about, sir?" Clark asked.

"Ah, yes, right to the heart of the matter," Potter said, with a smile. "You always were the direct type, Clark.

"As you know, Lana's son Ricky will begin learning magic here starting next week," the professor went on. Clark nodded. "Your friend Harry Potter and several of his schoolmates will also start here at that time. There's no problem with any of that, by the way," he hastened to say, when Clark began to look concerned. "However," he added, "I do want to discuss something about Harry with you."

Clark looked a bit perplexed by this. "Why me?" he asked. "I know Harry only coincidentally."  
"How did you two meet?" Potter asked.

Clark remembered the story Harry had given Lana, when they met. "I met him over in England, just before I returned home on my travels abroad."

"I see," Potter nodded slowly. He gave Clark a knowing look. "Is that when some of your power was transferred to him?"

Clark blinked. "I — I beg your pardon?" he said, with a sudden sinking feeling that the old wizard knew much more than he'd let on, initially. "What are you talking about, sir?"

Potter smiled at him. "Oh, come now, Clark, I've known about your powers since you were a boy," he said. "I've been a wizard a lot longer than you've been Superman."

"How did you find out?" Clark asked him, hoping he could trust the man.

Potter chuckled. "Magic," he said, _sotto voce_, as if he were imparting a great secret to Clark. "I was a bit overprotective of Lana when she was small, I'm afraid — I performed detection spells on all her little friends, in case any of them were Dark wizards trying to get close to her or my wife. You were quite a shock to me then, I must say! Even then you were quite powerful."

"So, you know about me," Clark admitted. "What does this have to do with Harry?"

"He has some of your powers, does he not?" Potter asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Clark nodded. "There was an accident involving kryptonite, and lightning, on the night I returned to Earth. Part of my powers were transferred to Harry. I've been training him in their use since then, off and on as time permits."

Potter mulled that over for several seconds. "Interesting," he said at last. "Did you receive any of Harry's magic?" Clark nodded. "Curiouser and curiouser," Potter mused. "Have you tried to learn any magic since you received that gift?"

"It seems a bit more difficult," Clark told him. "I was supposed to visit Hogwarts this fall and talk to Professor Dumbledore about learning it, but that doesn't seem likely now since Harry's going to your school."

"Indeed, indeed!" Potter grinned. "I am happy now I had you come talk to me, Clark! I think you should come here to learn _proper_ magic, not that stuffy old British wand-waving!"

Clark had to smile, in spite of the professor's earnestness. "I think I would stand out a bit in a school of teenagers, Professor Potter."

"Oh, nonsense," Potter waved a hand in airy dismissal. "We can make sure you look right in place. I'll tell you what, Clark —" Potter reached up with a finger and wrote the words _Teleport key for Clark Kent to Dean's office for Monday Morning at 7am_ in the air in front of him. His hand then encircled the words and he tapped a notepad on his desk. The words swooped down and impressed themselves on the pad. "I'll send you a transportation key for first thing Monday morning, and we'll get you fixed up for classes."

Clark looked thoughtful. "Well, I suppose I can take time now — it would be good for me to understand how to use these new abilities. And the tuition shouldn't be a problem either, I have adequate funds in —"

"Never mind the tuition, Clark," Potter waved off the idea. "You've given the world quite a bit of yourself over the years, even if you've been gone for a while — I can give a little myself, if it helps you become a better person and a better hero, for it."

"Thank you, sir," Clark said, extending his hand, and the two men shook.

"Alrighty then," Potter said, looking around for the letter Clark had been holding when he arrived. "Here's your letter back," he said, handing it to him, then tapping the page with a finger as Clark held it. "There — the letter will return you whence you came shortly. I'll see you on Monday, Clark!"

"Thank you, sir," Clark nodded. "I look forward to —" there was a flash of light and his final words were whisked away with him, back to Kansas.

=ooo=

The _Gertrude_ made its way north from Antarctica, following the eastern seaboard of South America. The ship was making good time, though Luthor was in no hurry; he had the Kryptonian's crystals to study, as well as a few other items of interest they'd picked up on their way out of the Fortress. He also thought it would be a good idea to "lie low" for a while, and a restful ocean voyage was just the ticket.

Stanford and the others were monitoring news reports from around the world, listening to see what everyone was saying about the return of Superman but, mysteriously, there was no mention of him on any of the news services or wires. There _were_, however, numerous reports of the _Genesis_ rescue, including a few blurred photos of the super-powered person who had stopped it from crashing into a Houston Air Force base, averting what would surely have been a horrifying disaster.

Luthor rolled his eyes at such reports — of _course_ it would have been horrifying, that was the point! And if Superman (and his little super-friend, whoever he was) hadn't shown up and wrecked things, he would be dictating terms to the nations of the world for its unconditional surrender to him, Lex Luthor!

Luthor sighed, setting down the eyepiece and pinching the bridge of his nose to clear his thoughts. The crystals he'd been examining _looked_ normal enough, though he knew they had been grown, somehow, using an advanced process he hadn't yet completely comprehended, despite Jor-el's lengthy (and monotonous) tutoring. Superman's father had talked of catalytic responses of the crystals, but all hell had broken loose when the Man of Steel had shown up to reclaim his icy getaway spot. And Luthor had been so focused on enjoying his downfall at his hands through the kryptonite defense system that he'd never gotten back to what actually catalyzed crystal growth or change. Oh well, that would teach him to skip to the end sooner, Luthor shrugged.

Needing a break, Luthor walked over to the grand piano and sat down, playing Rachmaninoff's Moment musical opus 16 number 4 — the complexity of the piece paradoxically allowed him to clear his thoughts, concentrating only on the harmonies he was creating. The rolling feeling of song seemed especially apropos as they'd been in somewhat choppy waters for the past few days, but Luthor suspected he was the only person who appreciated the metaphor. Kitty was in her room with a bout of seasickness, which bothered Luthor not a whit.

When he finished, Luthor noticed Brutus standing in the doorway, listening. Though his best effort on the piano was Hoagy Carmichael's old song "Heart and Soul," he seemed to appreciate Luthor's musical ability the most of his four "associates" from his prison days. "What's up?" Luthor asked.

"Stanford's found something he thinks you ought to see," Brutus answered.

"Did this discovery somehow make him forget how to use the intercom?" Luthor asked, blandly. "Or did you just feel like taking a walk?"

Brutus shrugged. "He seemed to think it's important."

"Fine," Luthor said, getting up from the piano. "I have nothing better to do than come running when my subordinates call." He followed Brutus back through the ship to the control room, where Stanford, their resident electronics genius, had set up a sophisticated satellite monitoring and tracking system, the one they had used to locate the unique emissions signature of the Fortress, which had disappeared, along with the Fortress, after they were forced to retreat when Superman's mysterious partner had somehow neutralized Luthor's kryptonite defense system.

The young Indian-American was hovering intently over his equipment when Luthor and Brutus stepped into the control room. "I figured you'd be interested in this," Stanford said over his shoulder, as Luthor approached.

"So I heard," Luthor murmured, peering at the display Stanford was pointing at. "What _is_ that?" The view on the display was an orbital shot of Earth looking downward from somewhere over Central America, from the angle. The satellite image Stanford had hijacked was showing an irregular object in the skies over southern Texas; it appeared to be drifting toward the Gulf of Mexico.

"I'm getting ready to zoom in on it," Stanford said, sending a signal to the satellite. The image shifted to a closer view, and Luthor smiled broadly.

It was an aircraft wing, a large one, that looked as if it had torn free of the fuselage of whatever plane it had been attached to. Luthor _knew_ what plane it had come from — he had scanned nearly every inch of that 777 before deciding to sabotage its couplings to the shuttle _Genesis_.

"What the hell is it _doing_ there?" Brutus asked, of no one in particular. "Wings aren't supposed to float when they fall off a plane, are they?"

"No, they're not," Luthor replied, softly. He was silent for several moments, thinking furiously. "I need to examine that wing," he said, suddenly. Picking up a nearby notepad, he scribbled several instructions and handed them to Stanford.

Stanford, reading the instructions, let out a low whistle. "Are you sure we can do this?" he asked Luthor.

"I have every confidence in your abilities," Luthor said, with a magnanimous smile. "Plus, this was not a request."

"Right, boss," Stanford said, leaving to make preparations.

"What do you think it means?" Brutus asked, as Luthor walked over to a small metal rifle cabinet he'd had brought on board when they first stocked the ship. The cabinet had originally contained several assault rifles, but now it held something much more precious. Taking out a key, Luthor unlocked the cabinet.

"I think," he said, "it means we've come across some more information on Superman's little super-friend.." He reached inside the cabinet, bringing out the item he'd managed to get on his way out of the Fortress — the one item that had not seemed to belong there: The broom with the word "Firebolt" engraved along the side, with the numbers 0127FB beneath the name. There was something unusual about this broom — Luthor could sense it, just as he could sense a connection between it and the kid who'd managed to keep him from getting rid of Superman once and for all.

Now, with this broom, the Kryptonian crystals, the specimen of Superman's blood on his broken shiv, and the 777 wing floating above the Gulf, Luthor hoped to put together the pieces of the puzzle and come up with a way to stop Superman for good.


	10. School Day

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Ten  
****School Day**

_Updated 20 November 2010_

The Monday before September first had finally arrived, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were making their final preparations to leave for America. Because of the seven hours time difference, they would not have to report to the school until nearly three p.m. local time. It was a bit weird, not having Mrs. Weasley (who after all was not very enthusiastic about their leaving for another country, especially Ginny, her youngest) not shouting up at them to hurry up or they'd miss the Hogwarts Express.

Harry still felt ambivalent about going to America, but having nearly a week to think about it had strengthened his resolve to go and learn as much additional magic as he could, especially wandless magic. _That_ kind of magic could come in handy in a duel, especially if he ever lost his super-powers _and_ his wand, which was going with him to America, even if he might not need it there. Surely he and the others from Hogwarts would not be expected to simply stop using their wands once they got there, would they? But they'd had no word yet from Professor Potter on what to bring, what not to bring, or even how they would be getting there. He hoped that the professor, who sometimes seemed a bit absent-minded, hadn't forgotten them.

In fact, it had been a very quiet, even lonely week at the Burrow after his talk with Professor Dumbledore early last week. He had thought he would see the headmaster another time or two, intending to talk Harry into staying at Hogwarts, but he never returned. Hints dropped near Mr. or Mrs. Weasley had produced no results — they had not mentioned talking to him either, even in the course of Order business.

And the one person he _really_ wanted to hear from, Clark, had been silent as well, though Harry knew he couldn't expect Clark to simply fly over and see him on a whim. So of course, Harry had flown over to Kansas several times to see _him_. But Clark had not been at the farm the times when Harry flew by, miles overhead, peering into the barn and other places where he might have been. Where Clark was, he could not guess — Harry thought perhaps he was out patrolling as Superman, stopping crimes and averting disasters from behind the scenes rather than openly, as he had done before he left Earth five years earlier. Harry had considered being an Auror when he left Hogwarts, assuming he could get the required five N.E.W.T.s, a goal that was now gone forever since Snape would not take students with O.W.L.s below "Outstanding."

But with a bit of training, Harry reckoned, and some extra magical ability, he might be able to become someone like Superman. Harry smiled, imagining himself in a skin-tight costume, wearing a large "P" on his chest, flying to save some hapless passengers on a shuttle flight threatened by some space disaster (hopefully without some madman with a handful of kryptonite waiting for him!).

"It does seem a bit weird, doesn't it?" Ron asked later during lunch that day. "We'd be sitting on the train right now on our way to Hogwarts, if we weren't going to America in a few hours."

"_If_ we go in a few hours," Hermione said, worriedly. "I wish Professor Potter would hurry up and send word on how we're getting there!"

There was a sigh from the vicinity of the stove, which they all studiously ignored. "I just hope you all know what you're doing," Mrs. Weasley said reproachfully. "I didn't think this was a good idea, and all this just confirms it!"

"Mum, it's not that big a deal," Ginny looked up from her plate, trying not to snap at her mother, something she'd been wanting to do since Mrs. Weasley began her "aggrieved mother" act. "We'll go, we'll be back for Christmas holidays, then again at spring break, and back for the summer. Then, rinse and repeat," she added grinning mischievously.

"I'll thank you not to make light of this, Ginevra," her mother said, severely, and Ginny put her head down, knowing that using her full name was a measure of how upset her mother was.

"Oh, no!" Hermione suddenly looked around at Ron and Harry. "I just realized! Did either of you write anyone else at school and let them know we wouldn't be coming?"

"Won't Dumbledore or McGonagall tell everyone at the beginning of year feast?" Ron asked. "I mean, we're three of the most popular people there —"

Ginny snorted. "What?" Ron looked indignant. "Lots of people know us!"

"_Harry's_ popular," Ginny pointed out. "And Hermione was performing spells last year that even N.E.W.T.-level students have trouble mastering. What did _you_ do, Ron, other than save a few goals at Quidditch?"

Ron scowled at her. "And what about _you_, then? Fussed that I didn't include you with us _popular_ students? Maybe if I'd said 'boy-crazy' you'd have felt better —"

"Oh, shut it," Ginny snapped at him. "It's not like you've ever even kissed a girl yet, unless we count Aunt Muriel!"

Ron got red-faced, but before he could retort their mother rapped on the table with a large wooden spoon. "Enough of that! You'd both better show a lot more maturity or I'll keep both of you home and teach you magic myself!" Both Ron and Ginny glared at each other but neither spoke again during the meal.

After lunch Ginny returned to her room to finish packing; she threw Ron a final smoking look before disappearing up the stairs. He, Harry and Hermione retired to Harry's bedroom to talk about their impending journey. Hermione shut the door to the room, then took out her wand and waved it, making the door Imperturbable. "Just in case," she said, as she sat down on the bed next to Ron. Harry had seated himself on his trunk. "I assume you haven't mentioned anything about your new powers to Ginny?" Hermione asked Harry.

"What? Oh, no…" Harry shook his head. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about them — the powers he _really_ had, versus what he'd told them. As far as they knew, Harry's magical powers had just increased, allowing him to hover in mid-air or float about, and he was stronger and faster than he had been, though he hadn't shown them just how strong he really was, yet.

And Ginny? Harry wasn't sure just what he should tell her. For a while it had seemed like she sort of fancied him, but in the time since he'd become interested in Cho Chang she'd developed friends of her own, including male ones (to the annoyance of her brothers Fred, George and Ron). Last year it had been Michael Corner, followed by Dean Thomas. She and Thomas had still been seeing one another at the end of their fifth year — Harry remembered Fred asking her during the summer if she was going out with him, and she said yes. Now, of course, that wouldn't be happening, Harry realized, but Ginny didn't seem too upset about it — she hadn't said anything about missing Dean, or Michael — or anyone for that matter — from Hogwarts.

"Harry!" Harry blinked, startled by Hermione saying his name so unexpectedly. "Didn't you hear me?"

"No, uh —" Harry had been so caught up in his thoughts that he'd momentarily blocked out everything around him. "What?"

"Have you heard anything yet from Professor Potter?" she asked again, patiently, though there was an edge to her voice that Harry knew was due to her fear that they might actually miss some of the first day of school. He shook his head, and she frowned, looking at him as if she somehow thought he was responsible for their transportation not being arranged yet.

Ron, however, was still thinking about the one thing that had been on his mind since he learned, last week, about Harry's "new" abilities. "D'you think you could fly us there, Harry? I mean, if you can fly, and you can pick up this bed —" (Harry had demonstrated his strength to them last week doing just that) "—then you should be able to fly the three of us to America." Ron beamed, seeming to think this would be the best way for them to get there.

Hermione was shaking her head in astonishment. "Ron, the school must be like six thousand miles from here! It's — just before one now. Harry would have to fly us at…three thousand miles an hour. None of us could hang onto the bed at that speed!"

"Yeah, I guess not," Ron looked disappointed, and managed to act a bit sheepish about the suggestion. "But it would have been brilliant to get there on a flying bed!" Hermione looked at Harry and rolled her eyes.

Harry was grinning for a different reason. "We're never going to top showing up to Hogwarts in a flying car, though," he pointed out.

"True!" Ron agreed enthusiastically. "Too bad it got a bit peeved with us when we flew it into the Whomping Willow."

"_You_ flew it into the Willow, Ron," Hermione added, flatly. "And tore up several branches — Professor Sprout was as angry at you as I've ever seen her. You nearly got yourself and Harry expelled from Hogwarts — Dumbledore only just allowed you to stay, over the objections of Professor Snape, if I recall — and you both got detentions!"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, reminiscing. "Good times."

Hermione laughed, though whether it was _with_ Ron or _at_ him was uncertain, and stood. "Well, I'm going to pack the last of my things and get Crookshanks's pet carrier ready to go — I assume we're allowed to bring our pets, Harry?"

Harry looked at her blankly. "I dunno," he shrugged. "I suppose…" he hadn't heard Professor Potter say they _couldn't_, but he'd never bothered to ask. "I guess we'll find out when we get there."

Hermione's hand started to move toward him, and Harry's senses kicked into super-speed. He wasn't sure what she was going to do, but as he watched, she'd pressed her thumb and middle finger against one another and her hand was moving into position in front of him. As he watched, her middle finger slowly began to move, sliding along her thumb until it hit the heel of her hand. If he'd been listening at normal speed he'd have heard the sound of her snapping her fingers at him, but at super-speed it was only a dull _thud_, greatly amplified. Her mouth started to move and Harry slowed his senses back down to normal.

"I wish you'd wake up a bit before we left, Harry," she said, sounding reproachful. "It's like you've been sleepwalking for the past week. We've had to cover for you a couple of time now when you went flying off to heaven knows where!" One positive thing that had happened last week after Dumbledore's visit was that the restriction of them being housebound until their return to school had been lifted, and they had gone outside a few times for some Quidditch pick-up or just being outside in the sun and air once again.

Harry opened his mouth, but bit back the sarcastic remark he'd intended to make. She might be right — he'd been moping about the last week, trying to decide whether staying in Britain or going to America would be the better choice. But maybe it was just guilt rather than indecision — he'd already pretty much decided he would go; it was just the idea of leaving most of his school mates and all the people he knew in the world, to go to a strange place that he really wanted, deep down, to explore.

It was sort of how he'd felt when Hagrid told him he was a wizard, back on his eleventh birthday, and he began imagining the possibilities that would bring. Back then it had been simple — he was going to escape the virtual slavery he felt trapped in at the Dursleys, and that he wasn't utter rubbish like they'd pounded into him for the preceding ten years he'd lived with them.

Yes, Harry decided: he was not going to feel guilty any more! He was going to go to America and learn as much as he could about American magic. Who knew, somewhere along the way he might come upon the solution to rid Britain of Voldemort and his Death Eaters _without_ having to destroy his own soul in the process.

=ooo=

Finally, as three o'clock drew near, the four students had collected their trunks, cages and carriers in the Burrow's kitchen. Hedwig was in her case, as was Pigwidgeon; Crookshanks, Hermione's pet cat looked out of his carrier, his squashed expression seemingly glowering frustration at being locked up for this trip. Arnold, Ginny's pet Pgymy Puff, slept silently in its small cage. Hermione was pacing up and down the kitchen, twisting her hands together nervously.

She finally spun to face Harry. "Are you _sure_ Professor Potter hasn't sent you anything to bring us to the school yet, Harry? It's almost three!"

"Nothing yet," Harry replied. It _was_ getting close, he knew — perhaps the professor was busy with preparations for the first day of school, and had overlooked this detail. On the other hand, he'd been very enthusiastic about their coming…

"I can't believe he's forgotten us!" Hermione cried, actually stamping her foot in frustration. "Oh, we're going to be late, I just know it!"

Harry put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Hermione, don't worry about it — he knows we can't get there without some type of magical transportation from him."

"What if it's a test?" Hermione suddenly said. "What if he expects us to find our own way there?"

"Then he probably wouldn't have told us he'd provide a way there," Harry reasoned. "Right?" Hermione looked skeptical for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

"I suppose so," she said. "But at least we knew where and when the Hogwarts Express leaves King's Cross!" She spread her hands to indicate the blouse and jeans she was wearing. "We don't even know what we're supposed to _wear_ at the school!"

"I'm pretty sure _clothing_ will be appropriate," Ron said, deadpan. When Hermione gave him an _Oh, really, Ron_? He just shrugged and said, "Oi, just call me intuitive…"

Harry only wished he could be as casual as Ron — he was getting really worried that Hermione was right, that the professor had somehow forgotten about them. If only there was something he could do! He sighed, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, feeling his wand back there —

— and something else in his pocket. Something he didn't expect. Pulling it out, Harry saw it was a small parchment envelope addressed to him. It had the same flowing script as the earlier letter he'd gotten from the Professor:

_Mr. Harry Potter_  
_c/o The Burrow_  
_Ottery St. Catchpole_  
_Devon_

Hermione's head spun at the sound of crinkling parchment. "What is that?" she asked immediately, seeing it in Harry's hands. "Is that it?" She rushed over to stand next to Harry, looking as if she might snatch the envelope from his hand.

"I think so," Harry said, turning away slightly in case she made a grab for the letter. "Let me read it, Hermione!" He unfolded the letter inside and began to scan it. It read:

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_My most sincere apologies to you and your school mates! It has been such a busy weekend filling in teaching positions for this year that providing your transportation nearly slipped my mind!_

_This letter will serve as your key to teleport to the school — it will activate at precisely 3 p.m. your time, bringing you and anyone else touching it to the main foyer of the Academy._

_Once again may I tender my sincerest apologies for keeping you in anticipation of its arrival, and I eagerly anticipate the arrival of you and your friends at Potters Field!_

_Very Truly Yours,_

_Professor Phineas Potter_

_Dean, Potter's Field Magical Academy_

* * *

"Well, there you are," Harry said, looking up at Hermione. "This is how we're getting to America."

Of course Hermione was still quite nervous about how all of their baggage, pet carriers, and so on, were going to get there as well. There was a mad scramble while all their trunks and cages were set in a circle so the four of them could touch their belongings while taking a corner of the letter. Finally, with just over a minute left before three p.m. everyone was ready to go. Mrs. Weasley's eyes were bright as she hugged Ginny goodbye.

"Don't forget, you are all coming back to the Burrow for Christmas this year," she said, sniffling as she let go of her daughter. She looked at Ron, smiling though she was shaking her head. "Oh, I hope you all know what you're doing — it's a long way from home."

"Don't worry, Mum," Ron said, as she hugged him tightly as well, "Mmmf," he added, because she had squeezed him quite tightly. "I'll make sure none of them put a toe out of line."

Mrs. Weasley snorted amusement; Ron was about as likely as Fred or George to be the cause of trouble, not prevent it! She reached up, patting him on the cheek, then turned to Hermione and hugged her as well.

"Have a good year," she said softly as she let go, and Hermione beamed happily at her. At last she turned to Harry, and while he was still a bit unsure just how pleased she was with him, as he was the instigator, from Mrs. Weasley's perspective, of a lot of her woes this summer, she still looked sad to see him going. "Take care, Harry, dear," she said, giving him a long hug as well. "I hope you find what you're looking for." Harry nodded, too touched by her sentiment to speak momentarily.

Then Mrs. Weasley glanced at the cuckoo clock over the fireplace. The minute hand was quite near the three o'clock hour. "Oh! You'd better all get ready!" she said, scurrying out of the way so Harry could hold out the letter from Professor Potter. Silently Hermione, Ron and Ginny reached out, each taking a corner, while their other hands remained touching their trunks.

The minute hand on the clock moved a fraction; suddenly, the small door over the clock face swung open and a miniature hippogriff poked its head out, screeching once, twice, and a third time. Hermione closed her eyes in anticipation of teleporting, as did Ron. Ginny, her eyes still open and looking at Harry, rolled them slightly. Harry grinned back at her.

Nothing happened.

"Are we there yet?" Ron asked. After several seconds he opened one eye, looking around. "So what the —"

With a flash of light the four of them suddenly vanished from the Burrow, traveling several thousand miles in a fraction of a second, to suddenly find themselves in a crowded foyer full of students being jostled as lines formed around them.

"Hey," a tall sandy-haired fellow looked around at them, annoyed. He was nearly as tall as Ron. "You're late. No teleporting into school after eight a.m. — you might _schlack_ someone!"

"Sorry," Harry said, automatically. "We were using a letter the Professor gave us to get here."

"Which professor — oh," the kid nodded, seeming to understand. "You're the foreign students Dean Potter told us about, right?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. He looked around at all the students milling about them, just as the other Gryffindors were doing. "Uh — he didn't really tell us what to do once we got here," he said, hesitantly.

The kid stuck out his hand. "I'm Jimmy Taylor," he said, as Harry took it. "I'm a proctor." At Harry's blank look he added, "That's kind of like a student leader — I can tell you what to do to get started today. Most students other than the new ones know the routine." He pointed along one wall of the foyer, where tables were lined up end-to-end to make a long row.

"Get into the line that has the first letter of your last name. What's yours?"

"Uh —" for a moment Harry didn't know what to answer. "It's — Harry Potter." Jimmy pointed to the third line from the left.

"Okay, you get into that line, that's for the letters 'K' through 'P,'" he said. Harry thought he might react to his name, but Jimmy seemed to ignore it. "Hi," he smiled at Hermione, who smiled back at him, a bit shyly. "And what is your name, Miss —?"

"It's Granger," Ron answered immediately, before Hermione could say anything. Jimmy raised an eyebrow but smiled. "That's the second line," he pointed it out for Hermione, and she nodded in understanding. Jimmy turned back to Ron.

"Is your name Granger, too?" he asked, sounding mildly condescending. Ginny snorted.

Ron frowned at her. "No," he told Jimmy, curtly. "It's Weasley."

"It's the line on the left," Jimmy said. "Tell them your name and pick up your packet, then go down the corridor on the right, to the cafeteria." He glanced at a watch on his wrist. "We have an assembly the first day of class, it starts at 8:15. After that the new students will go to orientation. Even if you've been going to a magical school before now, you'll want to attend it. See you later!" Jimmy rushed off before Harry could stop him.

Harry looked at the others. "Well," he said, "I guess we go get our packets now." The four of them headed for the line they were supposed to stand in. Once in the queue, Harry began looking around the room at the students there. In spite of how busy it had seemed when they first arrived, there were not that many students left in the lines; most of them seemed to already have their packets and were simply standing around talking with one another or slowly making their way down the corridor toward the cafeteria Jimmy the proctor (whatever _that_ was — maybe like a prefect?) had pointed them to.

Ricky should be here as well, Harry recalled, but didn't see him standing in line or milling about anywhere. He went up on his toes to get a better look around, but felt his feet leave the ground for a moment; Harry quickly settled back to the floor. A brown-haired, curly-headed boy behind him was watching him with some interest. "Looking for someone?" he finally asked Harry.

Harry glanced at him. "Uh, yeah," he said. "He's a first-year."

"First year?" The boy looked confused. "You mean sixth grade?"

"Er — right," Harry agreed. "I mean it's his first year here."

"I haven't seen you around before," the kid said, sounding friendly. "New here?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I'm Harry Potter," he added, motioning toward himself.

"I'm Ed," the boy smiled. "Ed Word." He extended his hand toward Harry. Harry shook it, wondering what his last name was. Edward _what_?

"You're from England, aren't you?" a girl standing next to them one line over asked. Harry nodded at her, and she smiled engagingly at him. "I just love that accent of yours!"

"Well, bloody 'ell, Tricia," a boy standing with her in line said, rudely affecting an exaggerated British accent. "If Oi'd known that, Oi'd 'ave begun speaking like a limey years ago!"

"That's not a real British accent, though," Tricia sniffed dismissively. "_He's_ got the real thing," she said, pointing toward Harry.

"Big deal," the rude boy scoffed. "So he was born in England — so what? That doesn't make him any better'n any of us."

"I never said it did!" Tricia objected hotly. She raised a hand as if preparing to throw a spell. "You take that back, Dalton!"

Dalton didn't flinch, but he raised one of his own hands in a gesture that looked like a spell ward. "I didn't say anything wrong," he pointed out. "You'll get in trouble for hexing me if you aren't careful, Trish."

Tricia lowered her hand, looking angry, but said nothing. The kid next to Harry said, in a low voice, "They actually like each other, believe it or not."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry muttered. It looked like things weren't going to be very different here than they were at Hogwarts; some people were easy to get along with, others, not so much.

Harry was now at the front of the queue; the person regarding him from across a table with a handful of packets on it was a thin, sandy-haired man, dressed in a dark blue, pinstriped suit, white shirt and thin, black tie, all smelling of old cigarette smoke. After a moment, the man made a gesture of impatience, waiting for Harry to give his name. "Uh, Harry Potter," Harry finally responded.

The man handed him a packet with his name, "Potter, Harry James" inscribed on the label. "Potter, huh?" the man remarked casually as Harry took the packet. "Related to the headmaster, are you?" His accent was British as well, Harry realized, but different than his own Surrey; it sounded more Londoner, with maybe some Liverpool mixed in as well.

"Er — maybe," Harry said, with a shrug. "Er, are you —"

"See you in class, then," the man said, indicating Harry should move along. Harry stepped out of line and walked down the hallway to the cafeteria, where he found Ron, Hermione and Ginny loitering near the door waiting for him. All of them had their packets.

The cafeteria was a fairly large room — by no means as big as the Great Hall, back at Hogwarts — but it had quite a few seats in it. Harry and the others found four empty seats near the front, and all of them were looking around at the roomful of students laughing and talking together. The first two rows were filled with students with different-colored packets, Harry noticed — blue instead of black covers, as theirs were; and the students seemed to be the youngest group in the room. They must be the first-years (or _sixth graders_, he corrected himself).

"Doesn't look like as many students as there are at Hogwarts," Ron whispered to Harry, looking around as the seats began filling up with the last few students.

Hermione leaned over, whispering as well. "I counted about 300 seats," she said. "That's about half the size of Hogwarts. I thought there would be more."

"There's still a lot of variety here," Harry noted quietly. He had seen students of several different ethnicities — white, black, brown, yellow, and he didn't recognize at all.

"I wonder how many Houses they've got," Ron whispered to Harry.

"They don't have Houses here, Ron," Hermione leaned over once again, shaking her head as she answered.

"No Houses?" Ron blinked, trying to wrap his head around that unfamiliar idea. "How d'you sleep with a bunch of strangers around you, then?"

"I suppose we'll find out." Ron sat back, looking vaguely unsettled.

At 8:15 Professor Potter stepped out onto the raised stage and the room almost instantly fell silent. The elderly wizard walked up to the podium, smiling benignly out at them. "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Professor!" the school chorused back, startling the former Hogwarts students. They had not expected the response.

"I trust you all had a pleasant summer?" Professor Potter looked around as many students smiled or nodded. "Very good, very good indeed! I had a very interesting summer as well, and I'd like to tell you all about it…"

The room half-groaned, half-chuckled at what was apparently an ongoing joke between them and the dean. "I would," Potter continued, "but you all have better things to be doing today than listen to an old man ramble on.

"You will see a few new faces at the front of your classrooms this year," the professor went on, "but that will come later. For now, before we give the cafeteria over to our newest students, for their orientation this morning, I would like the students whose names I call to stand, introduce themselves, and tell us a bit about where they come from." Potter held up his hand and a sheet of parchment appeared in it. "Let's see… ah, Marianne Suzanne Addams!"

A small, dark-haired girl in the first row stood. "I'm Marianne Addams," she said after a moment, in a voice so quiet Harry wondered how anyone could hear her. "I live in Portland, Maine." She promptly sat down.

Professor Potter consulted the next name on his list. "Jonathan Clark!"

A black-haired boy with horn-rim glasses stood in the second row, turning around to look at the other students. "I'm Jonathan Clark," he said. "I come from a small town in Kansas…" He fell silent, pushed his glasses higher on his nose, then turned and sat down.

"Richard Dolan!" Potter called out next.

Ricky stood, turning and grinning at the others. "Howdy," he said, drawing a few chuckles from the throng of students, but he didn't seem to mind. "I'm Ricky Dolan, I come from Kansas, too! I live mostly in Smallville with my mom, but I spend some time with my dad, too." He looked over at Jonathan. "Hey, Jon! We might be neighbors! What town do you live in?"

Before Jon could answer, however, Professor Potter smiled brightly and broke in. "Plenty of time for socializing later, Ricky — for now, let's proceed with the introductions…"

Ricky nodded, looking disappointed as he turned to sit down, but then he saw Harry in the row behind him. "Harry!" he whispered, over his shoulder. "I was looking for you earlier! An' here you are, right behind me!"

"Hi, Ricky," Harry leaned forward to speak quietly to him. "I'm glad you made it."

"Yeah." Ricky looked around, obviously excited. "I can hardly believe that I'm here! I'm glad Mom and Mr. Kent worked out a deal to send me!"

"I am, too," Harry agreed, smiling, then sat back in his chair as other students were being introduced. The only thing more he could have hoped for was for Clark to be here as well — but obviously that wasn't happening as Clark wasn't here.

At the next name called a boy stood, one with straight black hair and rather unusual clothing that looked more like soft leather than cloth. "I am Aaron Hanging Cloud," he told everyone, "I am an Anishinaabeg from North Dakota." There were a few claps from around the room — whatever an "Anishinaabeg" was, Harry thought, there were more here than just Aaron.

The next kid whose name was called made quite a contrast to Aaron. "I'm Stuart Jefferson," he said, after standing in the first row. He was tall for his age, lanky like Ron, with fair skin and sandy hair verging on red. "I live in Virginia with my parents. And we are direct descendants of Thomas Jefferson, by the way."

Hermione made a soft _pffft_'ing sound with her lips. "What's that about?" Harry asked, leaning toward her.

She shook her head, as if declining to answer, but then leaned over and whispered back, "Oh, just the idea that someone would name-drop like that, even here…"

"Name drop?" Ron whispered. "Who's Thomas Jefferson?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll explain later."

Stuart had sat down again. "Aleecia — er…" Professor Potter was hesitating with the person's last name.

A small, blonde girl a few seats from Ron stood. "I'm Aleecia Krystovovitch, from Queens, New York," she said, her name and location rolling smoothly off her lips in a faintly Eastern European accent. "My parents and I emigrated from Lithuania five years ago to the United States, and I've been looking forward to attending school here."

She sat down amid a smattering of applause. Ricky was staring at her, then turned around to whisper, "Wow, she's cute! Isn't she, Harry?"

Harry felt both Hermione's and Ginny's eyes on him as he replied, "I guess so…she's a bit too — er, blonde, for me, though," he finished, not wanting to admit that he might find a twelve-year old attractive.

With Daniel Zungia from San Diego, California rounding out the group of sixth graders, Professor Potter added, "Now let's give them all a round of applause to welcome them to the Academy!" Everyone in the room applauded for several seconds.

"And now," Professor Potter continued. "I have a special treat for all of you before classes begin, a —" Someone in the group of students caught his attention, reminding him about the other new students.

"Oh, right you are, Erica!" Potter looked embarrassed. "I'd almost forgotten, we have three new students joining us from across the Atlantic!" Harry tried to sink into his chair — he had hoped they wouldn't be noticed at all! Potter looked around, seeing them in the third row. "Would you three stand, please, and introduce yourself?"

Hermione stood up immediately. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "I'm from London, England. I've been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past five years."

"_Where_?" some girl said near the back of the room, and several students laughed. Hermione's face flushed, and she sat down without further comment. A moment later Ginny stood, looking around the room.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," she said, and a wolf whistle sounded from someone nearby, provoking more laughter (and causing Ron to look around sharply for its source). Rather than be embarrassed, she grinned, adding, "I'm from England as well, in case you couldn't tell — I live near a small town named Ottery St. Catchpole, in Devon county." She sat down amid murmurs and comments; most of the students there had been favorably impressed by her.

Not to be outdone by his younger sister, Ron stood up almost as soon as Ginny started to sit down. "I'm Ronald Weasley, Ginny's _older_ brother," he said, still looking around for the source of that wolf whistle. I was a prefect and on the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts." He glanced at Harry, giving a small wink as he said the last part. He sat down again.

Harry stood. By now the first two rows of students had turned and were watching him. Even though Harry had gone through five years of notoriety, with all of its ups and downs, he felt mightily self-conscious. He turned and looked around at the students behind him. "I'm Harry Potter," he said, a bit hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "I've — ahem — been at Hogwarts for the past five years as well. I, um, live in a town called Little Whinging, in Surrey."

"Potter, eh? Aren't you the Boy-that-Lived?" someone asked. Harry glanced over, seeing it was Dalton, the boy who'd mocked his accent earlier.

"Isn't he the kid that some maniac named Voldewort is after?" someone else asked. "Maybe he skipped town so they couldn't find him."

Several muted conversations sprang up about Harry's reasons for coming to America before Professor Potter put up his hands, signaling for silence. "We can discuss recent events in England some other time," he told them cheerfully. "But for now, let's get to that special treat I mentioned earlier. Thank you, Harry."

Harry sat down, feeling mortified that a simple introduction had turned into an impromptu debate, even if only for a few seconds. He scrunched down lower in his chair, trying to become inconspicuous once again.

"Alright, everyone!" Professor Potter said, clapping his hands together. "I know many of you have been looking forward to this — our newest teacher is one I've been trying to bring to Potter's Field for years, either as a special guest speaker, or in a teaching capacity, and I'm pleased to say that he has finally accepted _both_ of my offers. May I introduce to you the one, the only — the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth — Doctor Stephen Strange!"

Everyone broke out into thunderous applause as Ron and Harry looked at one another, then at Hermione and Ginny. Both of them shrugged, shaking their heads. Strange strode to the podium dressed in a blue embroidered tunic with a golden sash about his waist and a long, flowing red cape with bright yellow embroidered border. He wore black leggings and boots. Everyone else in the room seemed to instantly recognize him, though to Harry he looked more like Severus Snape's dapper older brother, assuming Snape _had_ a brother. His hair was shorter, white at the temples, but he had a goatee similar to Snape's.

It took nearly a minute to get everyone calmed down enough to stop applauding and return to their seats, before Strange began talking. His voice was calm and deep, similar to Professor Dumbledore's, Harry thought, but younger and fuller sounding. "Thank you, Professor Potter, and students of the Academy. I am deeply honored by your enthusiastic reception of me, and I look forward to teaching the students here.

"However," the American wizard went on, "before I can do that, I must be completely honest about my current status." Murmurs of conversation filled the room as students wondered what Strange would tell them. "I am no longer Sorcerer Supreme."

The room broke out into cacophonous shouts of surprise and dismay. Harry and the others were looking around in confusion. This seemed like bad news, Harry gathered, but he didn't understand why. Even Professor Potter looked surprised and almost alarmed by this revelation.

"Stephen, I'm so sorry to hear this!" the professor exclaimed. "I — I had no idea… does — does this mean that Earth is currently…unprotected?"

_What did _that_ mean_, Harry wondered. Even if this Dr. Strange could no longer protect Earth, Superman was back, wasn't he?

Professor Potter's question had prompted an increase in the volume of questions and rumors floating about the room. Dr. Strange put up his hands, signaling for silence. When the noise calmed down he answered, "There is nothing to fear, Professor — Earth is still well-protected. A new Sorcerer Supreme was selected to take over my duties in my place. It is she who will give your class the opening speech of the school year. May I present my —" Strange faltered for a moment, then turned as he stepped aside, saying, "— the new Sorcerer Supreme, Clea."

A bright flash of light appeared over the stage, and a young woman with striking white hair appeared in the air above them, dressed in a reddish-purple body suit with black leggings and boots. She floated down, landing in front of the podium Strange had just stepped away from. The room was filling with applause once again — it seemed many people recognized this person, just as they had Dr. Strange.

Harry stared at her. He had expected interesting things to happen at this school but nothing like _this_! The woman silently scanned the cheering students in front of her; for a moment, her eyes locked with Harry's, and he felt a thrill of something like anticipation along his spine. Then her gaze passed on, and she held up her hands for silence. After several moments the cafeteria became quiet once again.

"Thank you, Stephen, and thank you, Professor Potter, for giving me the opportunity to speak to your students today," she began, nodding toward Strange. Her voice was melodic and sensual, Harry thought. She looked out toward the young faces staring at her in rapt attention. "While Stephen is no longer Sorcerer Supreme, you will find that he is an excellent teacher. I know this because he was my teacher and mentor — he helped me develop the skills I needed to become the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.

"That is why I am here today, to tell all of you about the importance of a good education. Though my parents loved me, they did not think me worthy of the magical knowledge they possessed, and sought to protect me from that knowledge. That 'protection' left me incapable of adequately looking after the people I was born to govern. Stephen gave me the knowledge, and the wisdom that must needs go with it, to do so.

"As you continue to learn more about magic and what it is capable of, learn also that your knowledge must be tempered with true understanding — not merely 'book' understanding or even that which comes through experience, but the capacity to understand all other living things as we exist together in the multiverse. I myself am still learning these things as well," she smiled.

"I will return, from time to time, throughout this school year," Clea concluded, "to see how all of you are doing, both with Stephen and the other teachers here. I look forward to seeing you again. Thank you." With that she faded from view.

The room filled with applause once again as Harry looked over at Ron, Hermione and Ginny. The two girls were both impressed by the woman, as was Ron, if his enthusiastic clapping was indication enough. Harry had found her intriguing as well — she seemed so young to have attained as lofty a title as 'Sorcerer Supreme,' whatever that meant.

As the applause died down Professor Potter stepped to the podium once again. "Very good," he told the assemblage. "Now I think most of us are ready to begin classes. New students please remain in your seats — we will begin orientation as soon as everyone else is off to their first lesson of the day." The room quickly cleared, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, along with perhaps thirty sixth graders, in the first three rows.

"Alrighty then," Professor Potter said, beaming down at them from the stage. "Before we get started, any questions from any of you?" He looked around the room, waiting for a response. All of the younger students, perhaps still accustoming themselves to the new surroundings, looked cautiously around at one another but no one raised their hands. Hermione suddenly put up hers, and Potter nodded toward her. "Yes, Miss Granger, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," she said. "I just wondered if you'd explain what the two speakers meant by 'Sorcerer Supreme.' I've never heard that term before."

A few of the younger students seemed to think that was funny, but Potter looked delighted by the question. "Ah! I suppose you wouldn't have heard of it, Miss Granger, as the British Ministry of Magic does not acknowledge the Sorcerer Supreme in the hierarchy of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"But what _is_ a Sorcerer Supreme?" Harry spoke up. "I mean, what's his job supposed to be?"

"It is the title granted to the wizard or practitioner of mystical or magical arts who has the most skills or commands the most magical resources in our universe," Potter answered.

"But how could anyone _know_ that?" Hermione asked. "Weren't they saying that Doctor Strange used to be Sorcerer Supreme and now Clea is? Who decided that Clea could have the title? Did Doctor Strange give it to her?"

Professor Potter shook his head. "I do not know the particulars, Miss Granger; suffice it to say, Doctor Strange may tell us in his own, good time, if he chooses to. I am not so sure that the change of title isn't temporary. For now," he concluded, "I am content to have Stephen here at the Academy teaching."

"But it doesn't make sense," Hermione persisted.

Potter looked interested by this comment. "Why not, Miss Granger?"

"Well, it _does_," she amended, quickly. "I mean, there's always been a question about who was more powerful in Britain, Professor Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort —" next to her, Ron flinched "— oh be still, Ron! — Anyway, it can be hard to define what 'more powerful' means…"

"Go, on, Miss Granger," the professor prompted her.

"In terms of age, Professor Dumbledore seems quite powerful, but he has made statements over the years that led me to believe he thinks Voldemort is a more powerful wizard in terms of knowledge."

Potter was scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, well… I must say, Albus has always been a bit self-deprecating, at least publicly. In private, however, he is quite proud of his skill and knowledge in the magical arts."

"And yet," Hermione pointed out, "neither he nor any witch or wizard I've ever met, nor any book on magical organizations and titles has discussed becoming or holding the title Doctor Strange spoke of, until now."

Professor Potter nodded, looking somewhat sad. "It is unfortunate that the Ministry continues to resist many of the advances magic has brought to the world, my dear. It is one of the reasons I wanted to bring you and your friends here to the Academy — I believed your skills were being wasted in the provincialism that Britain has chosen to mire itself in. For now," he suggested, "we should continue with the orientation so that you can begin learning about these things."

Hermione said nothing, but Harry could tell by the set of her lips that her curiosity was roused by all the secrecy surrounding the magical title that had apparently recently changed hands. He was curious, too — about the new Sorcerer Supreme. If she was really powerful enough to beat any other wizard on Earth, he pondered, she might be able to help him with Voldemort. Harry hoped she would return to the school before too long, so he could broach the subject with her.

"To begin the orientation, I would like to explain the different kinds and classes of magic we teach here at the Academy, for those of you who have not yet had any experience with it — and for those used to a different methodology," Potter glanced toward Harry and his friends. "Let's go through the kinds of magic first.

"There is _arcane_ magic, an innate ability that certain humans and demi-humans possess, as well as some flora and fauna. It is part of a biological predisposition of the genetics of the organism, though the exact mechanism of generation is not understood. Most, if not all of you, have this predisposition."

Harry glanced at the students in the rows in front of him. Most of them were listening attentively, though Ricky was figeting already and several other students seemed to know this already. Hermione already looked bored, though she was listening politely, as was Ginny. Ron was examining several of his fingernails.

"_Primal_ magic is the ambient magical energy of the plane or dimension," Potter went on. Hermione looked up, interested now, as was Harry; they had never been told of this kind of magic back at Hogwarts. "Some universes have regions of high magical output; just as a star puts out light and heat, there are places where magic tends to flow. Some practitioners are able to sense and direct this magic, either to channel it to other places or within themselves. One of our teachers, Miss Johar, is a primal magic specialist."

"There is _incarnum_ magic, which is generated by the soul of a sentient being," the professor went on. "In more mundane circumstances it might be thought of as _psionic_ magic. Incarnum magic may be cultivated through meditation and training, even if one does not possess any arcane magic capabilities.

"The final kind of magic is _excarnum_ magic, magic obtained through petition of a magical or extradimensional being. This kind of magic is potentially the most powerful, and therefore the most dangerous — the being may require certain actions in exchange for this magical ability, or expect complete fealty in exchange for said magic. Doctor Strange is one of our experts in this magic, and when you are ready for his courses you will learn more about it.

"That's it for the different kinds of magic you'll be learning about here at the Academy," Potter said, gesturing over their heads. "There is usually a ten-minute break between classes, to allow students to move between classrooms. Since we're close to that break let's take a few minutes; have something to drink, if you like, there are now milk and juice boxes on the tables behind you." They looked around, seeing that several tables had replaced a couple of rows of chairs behind them, tables filled with iced bowls containing cartons of drinks, as the professor had said. Most of the students jumped up immediately, dropping their packets on their seats and running to the tables to grab their favorite drinks.

Hermione and Ginny looked at one another, nodded, then both got up to look for something to drink. Harry and Ron, not wanting to be in the mad scramble of twelve-year olds, remained seated. After a moment, Ron glanced at Harry, saying, "Pretty wicked cool stuff he's telling us, innit Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I never thought there might be more to magic than what we've been learning these past few years."

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Can't understand why the Ministry doesn't want this stuff taught —"

"Knowing Fudge,' Harry muttered, darkly. "It's because he's afraid the Ministry couldn't control people as well."

"Yeah," Ron agreed again. He looked at the table were the drinks were. "I wonder if they got any pumpkin juice…?" He wandered in that direction, and Harry was about to follow when Ricky turned up beside him.

"Hey, Harry!" Ricky beamed at his older friend. "I'm glad to see you guys here! I was kind of afraid I wouldn't know anyone when I got here!"

Harry smiled at him. "You seem to be doing okay so far, Ricky. How did you get here this morning?"

"A Teleport Token." Ricky dug into his pocket and came out with a round, gray circle that looked like a poker chip. "I just held it in my hand and a few minutes before eight — _poof_! — I was in the room out front. It was cool!"

"We came the same way," Harry told him, "except it was a letter, so we could all hold onto it at the same time."

"That would be cool, too!" Ricky drained the carton of orange juice he was holding, then asked, "D'you think we'll be in the same classes, Harry?"

"I doubt it," Harry shook his head. "This is only your first year."

"It's _your_ first year here, too," Ricky pointed out.

"But I've been going to magic school in England for the past five years," Harry reminded him. "So have my friends — except Ginny, she's a year behind us."

Ricky looked disappointed by this. "Well," he shrugged. "We'll still see each other around, won't we?"

"Sure," Harry nodded. His hearing caught the sound of Professor Potter clearing his throat — he was about to begin speaking again. "We'd better get back to our seats, Ricky," he suggested.

"'Kay," Ricky waved and went back to his seat as Professor Potter called them to attention once again. Everyone retook their seats.

"Next," the professor said, "I want everyone to open their packets and take out their schedules." There was a rustling of paper as everyone did this. "Most of you will start with the beginners' classes, while those of you transferring into upper grades will be assigned classes approximating your current level of development and your ability to learn."

Harry looked down at his schedule. It was a grid shows days of the week across the top and periods along one side. The school day here was divided into eight periods, beginning at eight a.m. and continuing until four p.m., when the last period ended. The fifth period, from noon until one p.m., was lunch. Scanning his classes, Harry saw that the same courses were repeated on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays: Advanced Potions, Advanced Abjuration and Evocation, Incarnum Intermediate, followed by Intermediate Science and Math (Harry puzzled over that for a moment — they took no such courses at Hogwarts), then lunch, then Advanced Alteration, then a class called Wandless Training (good, that was one skill he was anxious to learn), and finally Advanced Enchantment and Illusion.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays he had Advanced Conjuration and Summoning, Advanced Universal Arcane, Advanced Herbology, Intermediate Reading and Literature (_hmm, another Muggle class_, Harry thought), then lunch, then Intermediate Necromancy, Artificer Intermediate, and finally Excarnum Basics.

Ron was looking over his shoulder at his schedule. "Looks like we've got the same courses, Harry," he grinned. "Even here they can't keep us apart."

Hermione had her hand up. "Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Potter pointed toward her.

"Aren't there going to be books for these classes?" she asked, holding up her schedule.

"Of course," Potter nodded, and several students groaned; one made a _ca-ching_ sound. "But don't worry, your books are covered under your tuition. The school has a small bookstore next to the library, where you can bring your schedules and receive a copy of the books you'll need. You will turn in the school's copy at the end of the school year."

"But —" Hermione's hand was still in the air. "What if we want to keep the book? Do we have to pay anything extra?"

"Oh, no," Potter shook his head. "You merely make a magical copy of the book."

"We can make copies of the _books_?" Hermione seemed surprised at the idea.

"Of course," Potter smiled at her. "It's just a book, my dear — there's nothing special about any of them."

"I don't think we were allowed to do that with our books at Hogwarts," Hermione said, looking both doubtful and delighted at the idea. "But it certainly makes sense, now that I think about it, allowing us to magically duplicate a book if we want to keep it. All the Ministry-approved textbooks had anti-duplication jinxes on them."

One of the sixth grade girls put up her hand. "Professor, could you tell us some more about the different classes. What will we be learning in Alteration class, for example?"

"Of course, of course," the professor replied. "Let's see, why don't we go through the different schools alphabetically? _Abjurations_ are protection spells, creating physical or magical barriers. They can also negate such barriers or interfere with other spells.

"_Alteration_ spells change the properties or characteristics of their target subjects, be it a living creature, an object, or even a state of affairs.

"_Conjuration_ spells summon or transport creatures or objects to the spellcaster; they can transport creatures and objects over great distances. Conjuration spells can also be used to heal damage to living beings, even to the point of reviving one at the point of death.

"_Divination_ spells reveal information to the caster. They enable you to learn information long-forgotten, to predict the future to a degree, to find things that have been hidden, and to counteract spells meant to deceive.

"_Enchantments_ affect the minds of other beings, allowing you to influence or control their behavior.

"_Evocations_ are spells that create objects or energy from 'nothing' — really, from your store of magical energy or ambient magic from your surroundings. They are normally cast to create an energy focus that is used as a tool, or sometimes as a weapon.

"_Illusions_ are spells that alter the perception or create false images or sensations, to deceive the minds of others."

"_Necromancy_ spells can create, manipute, and sometimes destroy life or life forces. They usually involve death and the condition known as _undeath_. Here at the Academy it is taught with the goal of making you aware of such spells and how to counteract them.

"The final school of magic," Potter concluded, "is known as _universal_ magic. These are spells that have effects too broad to place into one of the other schools, or they perform a very specific effect that does not fit into another category.

"You will find classes on all of these schools at the Academy, at the beginner, intermediate, advanced and Master level of study. There are also classes on the different kinds of magic, as well as Herbology, a class for studying magical plants and other organic materials. We also have classes for Potions and Artificer, which deal with creation of magical liquids and ointments, and with magical objects, respectively."

Potter stepped out from behind the podium and walked to the front of the stage, then floated gently to the floor of the cafeteria in front of the first row of students. "Now I would like us all to adjourn to the Bookstore, where we will check out the books you will need for your courses and pick up whatever other materials you will need." The group of students, along with the four ex-Gryffindors, trailed him through several corridors to a set of double doors with the sign posted above it: Academy Bookstore and Library. As they stepped inside, it was immediately reaffirmed to Harry they were in a magical building.

The Library was an enormous room, with the ceiling seemingly dozens of feet over their head, studded with numerous candle chandeliers. Rows and rows of bookshelves were arrayed before them, all finely polished wood, with comfortable, sound-deadening carpet beneath their feet. Harry had the impression there were already quite a few students making use of the room, but even with his super-enhanced senses he could barely hear anyone beyond the people around him.

Professor Potter, after looking around for several moments, turned and gestured for the students to come closer to him. He kept gesturing everyone closer and closer until they were all standing nearly front to back. "The Library keeps conversations from traveling very far," he told them. "You must be within a few feet of the person you're talking to, or in contact with them in some way, to hear them. For example, if you're both sitting at one of the tables, as long as you're both touching the table you can hear each other, even if you're at opposite ends and whispering. We've found that helps keep the noise level down to a dull roar," he winked at them.

While the professor helped the younger students sort out what books they needed, Harry and Ron compared their schedules with Hermione's.

"I wish they had Arithmancy and Runes," Hermione said, disappointed they were no longer on her schedule of classes. "I did want to keep up on them, if possible, as well as these other classes."

Ron was shaking his head at her. "Of course you would," he said, almost admiringly. "Hard to give you too much school work, isn't it?"

She laughed, though she gave him a look as if she thought Ron should know this about her by now. "I'll still need them after I'm out of school, of course."

Ron shrugged, looking around the Library. "I can't believe how quiet this place is. It looks bigger than the Library back at Hogwarts, and I thought that was the biggest lot of books I'd ever seen."

"It must be," Hermione agreed. "It must have quite an Extension Charm, to be this large. I wonder… perhaps this Library has some books on Arithmancy or Runes I haven't seen at Hogwarts. I might be able to do some independent studying." She started walking toward a shelf with an "A" on it. "Want to help me look?" she asked, looking around at them as she walked away.

"No," Ron said. She shrugged and kept walking. Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged as well, and they both followed her. Soon she had them searching along different aisles of books — the A-section itself seemed quite extensive. There were books on strange subjects like Alchemy (which had been mostly replaced by Potions at Hogwarts) and Aura magic, along with mundane subjects like Agronomics, American History, Anthropology, Archaeology, and others he'd never heard of.

At the end of row of bookshelves, Harry stopped, looking around. Ron and Hermione were nowhere within normal eyesight, and his hearing could not pick up their voices in this magically sound-dampened room. He was considering using his X-ray vision to spot them when a voice said, "Are you looking for someone?"

Harry spun, surprised. It was the same voice he'd heard earlier! The young woman, Clea, was standing one row over, a book in her hand. She was taller than Harry expected, though not unusually so. As Harry stared at her, she replaced the book she was holding on the shelf and turned to him, smiling. "Hello," she said. "I'm Clea, a friend of Stephen — I suppose I should call him 'Professor Strange' in front of you, you're one of the students here, is that correct?"

"Uh… hi," Harry said at last. "Yes, I — er — recognized you. From before, that is," he added. "When you were speaking — um, at the…" his voice trailed off, making him feel stupid. Why was he having such trouble talking?

"I noticed you earlier," Clea said, nodding thoughtfully at him, as if he had not just spoken like a tongue-tied idiot. "You are one of the Hogwarts students who came over, Professor Potter mentioned he had several coming over this year."

"You know about Hogwarts, too?" Harry asked, surprised. He had hardly expected anyone in America to know about his school, or Voldemort, but several students had mentioned them already, and now it seemed this powerful witch did as well.

Clea smiled again, making the corridor around them fairly seem to shine with her radiant beauty. "Of course, Harry. It's a wonderful little school; it's a shame the Ministry holds you all back so much." Harry said nothing, though this was the second person that had made that claim. "I know that Professor Potter was happy that you came here; he sees a lot of potential in you — and so do I."

"You do?" Harry asked. The notion made him feel oddly warm.

"Of course," Clea nodded, taking a step closer to him. Harry was suddenly feeling much warmer, whether from the heat that seemed to emanate from her body or from his own, he wasn't quite sure. "I sense in you a strong desire to learn, Harry."

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked her. "Did you ask the professor who I was?"

"I'm the Sorcerer Supreme," she gently reminded him. "I do have ways of learning these things on my own. Stephen taught me well." She gazed at him for a long moment. "And, I may soon consider taking on a student of my own, someone who can fill the role of Sorcerer Supreme on their own, someday, when I am ready to pass on the title."

Harry blinked. _That_ sounded intriguing! But — "What about Doctor Strange? Wasn't he Sorcerer Supreme before you? Wouldn't he be your first choice?"

Clea's expression turned sad. "I'm afraid Stephen's days as Sorcerer Supreme are done. He is a great man, and has done great things in his life, but such things are in the past for him, now. The title must be bestowed upon young, fresh minds. Something for you to think about, Harry Potter. I will see you again soon." She touched his cheek with her palm, then disappeared.

Harry was still standing there, hand to his cheek where she had touched him, when Hermione and Ron appeared a few minutes later. "_There_ you are!" Ron exclaimed. "We've been trying to find you for a while now, Harry! Didn't you hear us calling?"

"I tried to tell you," Hermione said to Ron. "Sound doesn't travel in here unless you're both touching the same thing, or several things that are all in contact with one another."

"Well, we're all touching the floor, aren't we?" Ron pointed down at it.

"Apparently that doesn't count," Hermione argued. She looked back at Harry. "Professor Potter is ready to help us find our books now," she said. "He's helping Ginny right now. Are you coming?"

Harry nodded, following them out of the Library corridors toward the bookstore section. But he kept glancing back to the corridor where he'd met Clea, wondering when they would meet again.


	11. Where's Clark?

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Eleven  
****Where's Clark?**

_Updated 18 December 2010_

Over the next few weeks Harry and the other ex-Hogwarts students became more accustomed to academic life at Potter's Field Academy. After collecting their books, they returned to the cafeteria for lunch, which had been converted back to its usual function after the morning orientation. American food, as it turned out, was not very different from their usual British fare, though Harry noticed that in addition to roast beef, chicken or turkey the cafeteria also provided hamburgers and hot dogs. Dessert was similar as well, though there seemed to be more pies for dessert than for the main meal.

All of it was very good, though, and Ron nodded approvingly as he took a second helping of apple pie, with a roll of cheese on top. "Even Mum would like this," he told Harry, wolfing it down as if it were his first bite of food in a week.

Afterwards the new students met in one of the school's common rooms for an orientation on the school and grounds. The school was roughly circular in design, divided into eight sections. There were five common areas; each was in a different quadrant of the building, as well as the one outside they had seen on their first visit. It was larger than they'd originally thought, with 125 rooms that held two, three or four students per room. Most of the upper grade students had less than four occupants per room. Most of the dorms were near the outside ring of the school, while most of the classrooms were closer to its center, grouped around the cafeteria, which was at the center of the building.

The area surrounding the school was quite beautiful, with rolling fields and a view over a nearby valley filled with trees and a stream; Professor Potter told his new students that he had extended to radius of the magical wards protecting the school to five miles, so students could go for longer nature walks without fear of encountering Mundanes out on hiking excursions — they would unconsciously avoid the warded areas. "You should avoid going too far beyond the wards, however," he warned them. "Unless you have an affinity for wrestling bears."

After dinner, they were assigned dorms, and a proctor showed them to their rooms. In Harry and Ron's case, it was Jimmy Taylor, the first person they'd spoken to when they'd arrived at the school. He led them to a room some distance from the cafeteria, almost on the other side of the building from the entrance foyer. There were four name slots next to the door; only one had a name tag on it, a Grimsdale, D. Jimmy tapped the slots bellow it and two more name tags appeared: Potter, H. and Weasley, R.

"Here it is," Jimmy said, leading them into the room. It wasn't what they might have expected, after five years at Hogwarts — there were no four-poster beds with red velvet curtains waiting for them, just three simple twin-sized ones, and one of those looked thoroughly slept in already. In fact, the whole room looked very lived in, not just the one bed. Their trunks and Hedwig's cage were already in the room, stacked in the center. "Tsk," Jimmy said, shaking his head. With a wave of his hand he swept all the clutter into one corner, leaving two-thirds of the room looking clean once again. "Hopefully, you two will be able to give your roommate some advice on keeping a clean room."

Ron shrugged. "It already looks neater than my room back at the Burrow. Which bed d'you want, Harry?"

Before Harry could answer, there was a groan from the doorway. "There goes the bloody neighborhood," a half-familiar voice said, in a false British accent. Harry and Ron both turned, seeing Dalton, the rude kid Harry had encountered in line earlier, with his friend Tricia. He was staring at their newly-added names next to his door in disbelief. Tricia, meanwhile, was smiling shyly at them.

"I thought I was going to have this room to myself this year!" Dalton complained, turning to Jimmy. "You can put 'em somewhere else!"

"Sorry, Grimsdale," Jimmy said, not sounding sorry at all. "This was the only upper-grade-level room that didn't already have two or three occupants. And nobody promised you a private room, either." He glanced at Tricia. "You know it's not long before lights out — you should get back to your own room, Trish."

Tricia looked at him innocently. "We were just going to study a bit before then."

"Sure," Jimmy said, skeptically. "That's what the common rooms are for."

"Fine," Dalton said, this time without the accent. "Come on, Tricia — we'll leave the newbies with their new room, for now." He stalked off. Tricia turned to follow him, but looked back at Harry and Ron.

"See you guys around," she smiled, giving Harry a long look before running after Grimsdale.

"I didn't know Malfoy had cousins in America," Ron muttered, looking after the departing pair.

"Who?" Jimmy asked, looking slightly confused.

"Nobody," Harry said, quickly. "Just an old schoolmate." Ron snorted. "Thanks for getting us settled in, Jimmy."

"Good luck with Grimsdale," Jimmy nodded. "He's a bit of a jerk, but he's one of the brightest kids in school. Professor Potter thought you might learn a few things from him." He left, shutting the door behind him.

Ron looked at Harry. "Like how to be a jerk?" he wondered, aloud.

"How much help do you need with that?" Harry quipped.

Ron chuckled. "Not much, according to my sister."

They changed into their pajamas, then sat on their respective beds discussing the day's events. Ron was more pleased with the school than he'd expected to be, while Harry, happy to be here at last as well, was still distracted with thoughts of Clea, and the interest she had taken in him. It was a surprise, really, that such a young woman could be powerful enough to be proclaimed Sorcerer Supreme (though Harry still hadn't figured out what that meant — perhaps Hermione knew the answer, he would have to ask her first chance he got), and more surprising still that she had seen something in _him_. It could have something to do with the combination of magical ability and super-powers.

"Harry!" Ron's voice startled him. "I've said your name three times now — is something wrong?"

"Oh…no…" Harry shook his head, back in the present. "Guess I'm just tired. Maybe we should get some sleep." He pretended to yawn sleepily.

"Yeah, I guess so," Ron yawned hugely as well. "I hope our roommate knows how to sneak in quietly—I don't fancy being woken up in the middle of the night."

They put out all the lights in the room, save one, then settled down to sleep.

=ooo=

Magic classes, beginning on Tuesday, were interesting but also frustrating, for several reasons. Being unused to focusing magic wandlessly, Harry and the other ex-Gryffindors were quite far behind the curve in both theory and practice. The Academy students pointed this out gleefully when advancing the notion that America magic was superior to British magic.

Some of the teachers were a bit — strange. Their first class on Tuesday, Advanced Conjuration and Divination, was taught by none other than Doctor Strange himself, and most of the first class was taken up with questions directed toward him rather than about magic.

"What happened to your Eye of Agamotto?" one student asked. Harry did not even know what such a thing was. Strange answered, almost mechanically, that it was in Clea's safekeeping for now.

"Why Clea?" another student asked. "Why didn't Brother Voodoo become Sorcerer Supreme?"

"Clea was the best-qualified," Strange said, but didn't elaborate on why that was.

"Is it because she was your disciple?" Hermione asked, and Harry turned, staring at her. _How did she know _that?

"She was best-qualified," Strange repeated.

"How long have you been practicing magic?" Someone else asked.

"Since the early 1960's," Strange replied.

"How long was Clea your disciple?" _That_ was something Harry wanted to know.

"For some time," Strange said. She must've been with Strange since she was very young, Harry surmised — even younger than he was when he started, at eleven, to have learned so much in so short a time.

The next class, Advanced Universal Arcana, was more interesting — both because the teacher did not seem to be a celebrity in her own right, and because she kept everyone's minds on the subject. A pert young blond, Miss Sullivan had an engaging smile and a firm hand on her class. She spent most of the first hour summarizing Arcane magic and universal spells for the Hogwarts group, but still assigned enough reading that there were groans about getting it accomplished by Thursday's class.

Third hour, Advanced Herbology, was a surprise when the teacher, an older gentleman name Mr. Beery, introduced himself. Hermione immediately raised her hand.

"Sir, are you related to Herbert Beery, who taught Herbology at Hogwarts earlier this century?" she asked.

"My father," Beery said, proudly.

"So how did you end up in America?" This was asked by Dalton, who had put a look of innocence on his face, though there was an almost imperceptible smirk around the corner of his mouth.

Beery harrumphed, then after a few moments said, "My father wanted me to have an — er, broader education than just Hogwarts."

"Oh," Dalton said, blandly. "I thought it might have had something to do with that Christmas play he tried to direct, the one based on 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune.'"

Beery frowned at him. "What would you know about that play, Mr. Grimsdale?"

Dalton shrugged. "Oh, only that it won 'Worst School Play of the Century' in a recent _Witch Weekly_ poll, sir."

Beery looked decidedly unhappy until Harry turned to Dalton and said, "You read _Witch Weekly_? Hoping your hero Gilderoy Lockhart's going to win 'Most Charming Smile' again?" Several people in class snickered, and Dalton scowled at him.

"That's enough, Mr. Potter," Beery said, but nodded as Harry sat back in his chair, smiling slightly at Dalton's anger. Dalton didn't speak for the remainder of the class.

Their next class, Intermediate Reading and Literature, was a Muggle — or rather, a Mundane class, and while both Hermione and Ginny seemed to enjoy it, Ron (who wasn't much of a reader past the Quidditch scores in the _Daily Prophet_) looked absolutely bored by the class, and Harry just read when the teacher pointed to him. Not many of the other students looked any more interested, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the bell rung for lunch.

"Finally," Ron muttered to Harry, as they gathered up their books. "I'm starving." In the cafeteria, they each filled a plate with slices of beef and chicken, piles of potatoes and gravy, and heaps of corn or peas, along with a few rolls, then found chairs at the table where Hermione and Ginny were already seated, both having decided on salads rather than a large meal. "So what d'you think?" he asked, of no one in particular though he was looking at Hermione as he said this, before taking a huge bite of the roast beef on his plate.

"I think you should pay more attention in our Literature class," Hermione answered, giving him a severe look, one worthy of Professor McGonagall. "I saw Harry nudge you twice to keep you awake."

"You dib?" Ron, his mouth full, looked at Harry, who shrugged. It wasn't an interesting subject to him, either, but he didn't want to look bored in the class, at least until he knew what the teacher was like. It had been the thin, blond man that had given him his enrollment packet when they'd first arrived. The man had written his name on the board, _Mr. Constantine_, but then had launched right into the reading lessons without a further word about himself.

"You know, Ronald," Hermione was saying, in an almost lecturing manner. "You have an opportunity to increase your reading and comprehension skills here, as well as learn magic." Ron turned to Harry and rolled his eyes, then looked back at her.

"I can already read, thank you very much," he pointed out.

"That's debatable," Ginny snickered. Ron ignored her, though Harry smiled briefly.

"I'll wager even Harry can read faster than you," Hermione pressed her point. Harry shook his head warningly.

"Don't drag me into this," he said, frowning. "Ron and I don't have anything to prove by trying to out-perform one another."

"Afraid she's right?" Ginny asked, teasingly. Harry looked at her, surprised by the question. Hermione _knew_ he could out-read Ron — she'd seen him read an entire book in seconds. How much, Harry wondered, had she told Ginny?

"What d'you think of our teachers so far?" Ron suddenly interjected — whether he was trying to deflect the current conversation or the question had just occurred to him, it turned both Hermione and Ginny to that subject.

"Mr. Constantine is hot," Ginny grinned at Hermione, who nodded eagerly.

"Yes, and very intelligent, too," she agreed. "I was amazed to find someone who knows so much about the magical influences in British literature over the past three hundred years! It's a shame we'll only have his reading and literature class twice a week." Ron rolled his eyes again.

As Hermione and Ginny continued to discuss other teachers, Ron nudged Harry's elbow, then leaned over and asked quietly, "So how're things going with your increased magical ability?"

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered back.

"You know — are spells easier to cast now than at Hogwarts, stuff like that." Ron glanced past Harry, checking if Hermione or Ginny were surreptitiously listening to them. "I was wondering…maybe that'll happen to me, too!"

"Maybe," Harry shrugged, though it wasn't likely Ron would be struck by lightning while saving Superman from green kryptonite… the thought made his mind wander back to the man who'd tried to kill both him and Clark, Lex Luthor. He and his men had seemingly vanished after their improbable escape from Clark's Fortress of Solitude; it had been weeks since anyone had heard from them.

Just as well, Harry thought. For now, he was more concerned with where Clark was — he hadn't heard from him since they'd parted after his shuttle rescue and the Fortress incident. Harry had thought they were forging a close friendship, but it was as if Clark suddenly had more important things to do.

Well, he probably _does_, Harry rationalized, ruefully. He might be out traveling around the world, helping people and diverting disasters. What right did some teenaged boy have to expect him to hover about, keeping him company — even if he _was_ the only other super-powered person on Earth, and even if those powers were some of Superman's own?

Harry shook off these dismal thoughts. Sometime soon, he decided, he would take a quick trip to Kansas to see Clark's mother — perhaps she would be able to tell him what had become of him. He turned back to Ron and his lunch, resolving to make that trip at his first opportunity.

=ooo=

Ironically, even as Harry acclimating to his new school in America, the greatest criminal mind of the twentieth century and his men had arrived in London, England. Having located and examined the 777's wing floating above the Gulf of Mexico, Luthor had then turned his attention to the two other items he'd collected: the strange "Firebolt" broom that he'd found in Superman's spaceship, and the handle of his kryptonite knife, which was now, somehow, a piece of gray stone.

With the extraordinary occurrences that took place in Superman's Fortress — the partial recovery of his powers, the young man that came to his aid, with powers of his own, as well as something…extra thrown in for good measure. Airplane wings didn't float on their own accord, nor did radioactive metals, even unusual ones like kryptonite, didn't suddenly become inert, much less transmute to stone in a matter of moments. Luthor had suspected unknown forces at work.

They performed metallurgical and radiation tests on samples from both the wing and the knife. The tests were inconclusive — whatever had caused the wing to float had eventually worn off, and it had sunk into the Gulf. The handle, while now clearly stone, _might_ be giving off some exotic types of radiation, or it might have simply been errors in his equipment's calibrations. The broom had been the same. Luthor found himself more and more frustrated, and intrigued, by the mystery.

He finally decided to take a more forensic approach to the problem, and began studying the Firebolt more closely. The handle was ash, a strong but relatively common wood found around the world; the sweeper was made up of birch twigs, though the object was clearly not intended to use for sweeping. Birch was another wood common to many areas of the world. As for the name and number engraved on the handle, Luthor would have to look for potential uses for such an object, even strange and unlikely ones.

It would take several weeks of intensive search, but he finally chanced upon a lead — in an antique bookstore, of all places. They had docked the _Gertrude_, now rechristened _Alexandria_ in order to avoid a connection with the Vanderworth estate, off a small town on the New England coast, and Luthor had donned one of his wigs and dark glasses in order to enjoy a small excursion inland, looking for any kind of reference to a _Firebolt_ that might lead him to the broom's maker. The proprietor of the shop, an old man with a rather unnerving look in his eyes had handed him a very strange book.

_Quidditch Through the Ages_, though Luthor had no idea what "Quidditch" was supposed to be. Skimming through the book, he found that it was a game played, with all things, flying _broomsticks_. The old man demanded an extraordinary price for the book, which Luthor gladly paid; after which he had Brutus and the boys break the man's arm, then rob him, and considered it a fair trade.

Back on the _Alexandria_, Luthor studied the book in detail. At first, it had seemed to be a work of fiction, about a nonexistent game, but it was consistent with the broom he'd found, and thus more believable. Most of the "Quidditch teams" listed in the tome were based in the British Isles, so Luthor had decided to make that their first port of call.

The plan for getting more information about the broom was uncomplicated. Luthor had Kitty walk around various locations in London, carrying the broom. Brutus, Grant and Riley would shadow her. Anyone showing an unusual interest in the broom would be brought to Luthor for questioning. Of course, there would be a few false starts — some men would interpret the broom as a unique way of meeting men on Kitty's part, but she would be clever enough (Luthor hoped) to distinguish between the men interested in her, and those interested in the object she was carrying. As it turned out, it took only a few days before his men returned with someone who knew quite a bit about Quidditch brooms.

They dropped the small, blindfolded man in a chair in Luthor's main study on the _Alexandria_, where Luthor gazed at him in bemusement. The man was quite small, not much over five feet even with the top hat he was wearing. He was dressed, strangely, in purple robes. Brutus handed Luthor a small stick.

"This is the only thing he was carrying," he told his employer. "I figured you'd be interested."

"Oh, yes," Luthor murmured, examining the stick carefully. It was similar to the one the kid in the Fortress had pointed at them several times, with amazing results. "_Very_ interested."

The little man was turning his head from side to side, as if he were looking around the room. Could he see through the blindfold, Luthor wondered, with something like X-ray vision? He looked rather worried, Luthor decided; even if he wasn't able to see, he knew they had this stick. "So, what can you do with this stick, little man?" Luthor asked him.

The man froze for a moment, then shrugged. "It's just a stick," he replied, his voice soft and wheezy, like an old man. There was also an edge of tension to it, and fear. Luthor smiled fractionally. Fear was good. Fear, he could use.

"Take the blindfold off," Luthor told Brutus, who untied the covering, allowing the old man to see once again. The man looked up into Luthor's eyes with apprehension as Luthor held up the stick in front of him. "So this is just a stick, right?"

"Yes," the old man nodded, slowly, not taking his eyes off Luthor's.

"Well, then…" Luthor took the stick in both hands. "It won't matter if I break it, then?" He flexed the stick slightly.

The man's mouth set. "N-no," he shook his head, looking uncertain.

Luthor put more pressure on the stick. "Are you _sure_?" The stick was bending quite alarmingly now. "Well — on three, then: one… two… thr—"

"_Wait_!" the man cried out, and Luthor released his pressure. The man slumped, relieved, but Luthor bent over, waving the stick in his face.

"Well," he said. "I'm waiting."

The man looked away, seeming to wrestle with his thoughts. Finally, he looked back at Luthor. "It's a wand," he said, shortly. "A magic wand."

There was a burst of laughter, from Stanford. When nobody else laughed, however, he looked around sheepishly for a moment. "Sorry," he said at last. "But that's nuts."

"Perhaps so," the man agreed, too quickly. "Many people have suggested that I haven't much sense."

"That may be true," Luthor added. "But tell me about it, anyway."

"I can make magic with it," the man said. He looked around at them innocently. "If you would untie me, I would be happy to demonstrate its use."

"That would be quite interesting," Luthor said, holding up the wand before him. _Magic_! That would explain quite a few things. "I would be interested in learning how to use one of these."

"Oh, you can't," the old man shook his head. "You're just a Muggle, if you'll excuse me saying so. Muggles cannot perform magic, even with a wand."

"Hmm," Luthor pondered this. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to have you tell me everything you know about magic."

The old man nearly smiled at this. "My dear sir," he said, a bit imperiously. "I'm a wizard, well over one hundred years old, while you are a Muggle. What makes you think I will tell you _anything_ else about magic?"

Luthor smiled. "Well, I'll tell you, Mister, eh —"

"My name is Dedalus Diggle."

"I — and my associates here — can be very persuasive, Mr. Diggle," Luthor said, gesturing toward his henchmen.

"I cannot be tortured," Diggle stated.

"Oh, not torture!" Luthor agreed. "Torture is a very inefficient means of obtaining information. It's great for inflicting pain, of course — but pain is not what I'm after. It's your cooperation I want, and I have some ideas on indoctrination techniques that I'd like to try out on you." Luthor jerked a thumb, and Grant and Riley grabbed the man and dragged him from the room.

Brutus watched as they left the room, then turned to his boss. "What do you think he's going to give us?"

"With any luck," Luthor said, softly. "Everything, and more."

=ooo=

It was the middle of September before Harry found an opportunity to get away from the Academy. Ron had a sudden attack of homesickness during their first weekend, and Harry, always a good friend, had kept him company, doing their first week's homework together.

The second weekend, Harry was cornered by Ricky in the cafeteria during breakfast, wanting to talk about everything he'd learned in the first two weeks of school. Then he talked several of the boys into a game of baseball, and even Ron, already bored with the school routine, pested him to join. Harry found the game to be somewhat simplistic — played with only one ball and one bat, but a total of _nine_ players guarding the widely-spaced bases and field. And with his super-speed, the game was incredibly slow.

At one point, having somehow found himself playing center field, Harry had fielded a long, high hit that was heading over a row of bushes that had been designed the "home run fence." Harry had gone right up to the wall itself, but the ball was easily going to clear it, until Harry made a small leap and caught it one-handed. He landed, still holding the ball aloft to show he'd caught it, and saw everyone staring at him in surprise. He had rose about ten feet in the air to catch the ball. A runner on third, realizing how far Harry was from the plate, decided to tag up and race for home. "Throw it! _Throw it_!" the catcher screamed at him, though the effort seemed futile. Harry threw the ball.

The ball whizzed toward home plate in a low arc, almost too fast for the catcher to see — it struck the web of his mitt, almost knocking him back onto home plate, and he spun and tagged the runner's ankle as he tried to slide past. "Out!" the umpire yelled.

Everyone on the field was yelling in excitement as Harry walked in, exchanging places with the batter whose fly he'd caught. "I can't believe that throw, Harry!" Ricky was saying, awed. "You threw that a couple of hundred feet, at least, and right on target! Are you _sure_ you never played baseball before?" There was no sneaking off the field after that; the rest of the day was one long celebration. It was fortunate, Harry found, that in America you had to be twenty-one to drink alcoholic beverages, even beer, or every boy with even a passing interest in baseball (or drinking) would have been stewed to the gills.

This weekend, at least, things seemed to settle into a routine. Ron, now missing Quidditch, had pulled out his Chudley Cannons book and was leafing through it. That, Harry hoped, would keep him occupied for an hour or so. Ricky had come to the cafeteria, looking around the room as he ate for his friend Jonathan, the other kid from Kansas — Jonathan very seldom seemed to be around, but being only in sixth grade, like Ricky, Harry did not have any classes in common with either of them.

Casually picking up his tray, Harry announced, "I'll be back in a bit."

Ron, still reading from his Cannons book, muttered, "Okay, see you."

Hermione looked up, catching his eye. "Going somewhere?" she asked, every bit as casual.

"Just — out," Harry shrugged, not wanting to say anything overly deceitful. "Thought I'd go out and get some fresh air."

"Want me to go with you?" Hermione asked, closing her day's copy of the Bismark _Tribune_, one of the few area papers the school received copies of.

Harry blinked. "Well, not really," he said, flatly. Next to Hermione, Ginny was listening to the conversation with some interest as well.

"Oh," Hermione said, her look of disappointment clearly feigned. "Too bad — I guess you need to go off by yourself for a while…" She looked at Ginny and they shared a smirk between them.

"Okay," Harry said, uncertainly. "See you, then." He put his tray away and walked from the cafeteria, wondering what was up between those two. Halfway to the foyer, however, he thought of something — perhaps he should bring Clark's wand and money with him when he dropped by, in case Clark decided to begin using them.

As he turned, Harry saw someone suddenly step out of view, around a corner further down the corridor. Had someone been following him? He began walking back toward his room, and glanced through the walls ahead of him to see who it was. Surprisingly, it was Ginny. Okay, what was up with _that_? He continued back to his room, taking the most direct route through the school corridors, with Ginny shadowing him from one or two corridors away.

Well, whatever was going on, Harry wasn't going to let it distract him from making his impromptu visit to the Kent farm. He unlocked his trunk, got out Clark's wand and bag of gold and slid them into his jeans pockets, then relocked the trunk and made his way back toward the main entrance, with Ginny following, staying carefully out of his sight (but not from his X-ray vision).

In the foyer he paused, looking around as if he were thinking about something, while at the same time scanning the nearby corridors. Ginny had stopped beyond a corridor corner, waiting for him to resume walking. Smiling, with a slight shake of his head in amusement, Harry continued outside, walking through the outside commons in front of the school and down a path into a grove of trees. Ginny followed, and Harry picked up his pace, literally, as his feet left the ground and he slid silently among the trees, gaining speed. Ginny might try and cast an undetectable detection spell on him, one they had just learned in Conjuration and Divination class. But it was already too late for that, as Harry flashed out the opposite side of the grove faster than the eye could see, then sped upwards into the sky and turned southeast, toward Kansas.

The flight took only seconds, as the distance from the school to Smallville was less than a thousand miles, and Harry landed next to the barn, so that it blocked anyone from seeing him from the road. He looked around, but Clark was nowhere outside, and he didn't want to invade his or his mother's privacy by using his vision on their house. Walking up to the back door, he knocked, and was greeted by a surprised Martha Kent a few moments later.

"Harry, what a surprise!" she exclaimed, seeing him. "Come on inside, dear!" She smiled at him. "I was going to say, you must be chilled from the wind, but that wouldn't be true, would it?"

Harry smiled. "No ma'am," he agreed.

"So what brings you to these parts, dear?" She began to look concerned. "Has something happened to Clark?"

"Oh no," Harry said. "In fact, I just came to see if he was here — I wanted to drop off a couple of items he left with me, in case he needs them."

"Oh, dear," Martha frowned. "Clark left a few weeks ago, he said there was some studying he had to do. I haven't seen him since then."

"Huh," Harry pondered this. Had Clark gone off to Hogwarts without letting him — Harry — know? And without his wand, too? He could get another one, no doubt, but the wand he'd bought from Ollivander's was one of the last ones the old wandmaker had sold before disappearing last summer. "Did he tell you where he was going, Mrs. Kent?"

That brought a slightly exasperated smile to her lips. "No, dear — he's a grown man and lord knows, he's certainly capable of looking out for himself. Even if his mother _does_ worry about him. Do you still want to leave those items here for him?"

"What? Oh, yeah…" Harry took out the wand and the bag of wizard gold and handed them to her. She looked at them in wonder.

"Is this a…?" she held up the wand, staring at it.

"— a magic wand? Yeah, I guess so," Harry said, feeling almost sheepish saying it aloud. "The bag has coins in it that wizards use — gold, silver and copper coins called Galleons, Sickles and Knuts."

Martha opened the bag and poured out a handful of the coins into her palm. She looked at them for several seconds before shrugging and pouring them back in the bag. "Very interesting, Harry. I'll make sure he gets them the first time he comes home. Now, would you like something to eat before you go?"

"Well, I just ate," Harry said, then spied something on the kitchen counter and added, "but maybe I could have a _small_ piece of your apple pie…?"

Two slices later Harry sat back from the kitchen table. "That was _so_ good, Mrs. Kent! Your pies are the best, even better than the ones they make at school."

Martha smiled, placing the remainder of the pie back under its glass cover. "Thank you, Harry! I can't call it magic, but making pies all these years gives a body a lot of experience in matters like that." She rinsed off the knife and dropped it in the utensil rack of the dish dryer, then took a dish towel and began drying her hands. "I — don't know how difficult it is for you to visit, but it's nice to see you again. If you'd ever like to drop by sometime for supper, I'd love to have you over. Perhaps we can even arrange for Clark to be here —" she laughed, nervously. "If we ever hear from him again, that is."

"Oh, I'm sure we will," Harry said immediately, a bit alarmed at that possibility. He wouldn't have just left again, would he? Without saying anything to his mother, or to Harry? "He's probably at my old school — my headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, offered to give him some magical training. Although," he added, uncertainly, "that was before I decided to attend school here in America. But it must be _something_ like that, I'm sure!"

"Wouldn't he have needed that wand you brought here?" Martha wondered.

"Well…yeah," Harry admitted. "But he could have gotten another one…" Even as he said it, however, Harry realized Clark probably wouldn't have done that — he would have found a way to contact Harry for his own. In fact, Harry remembered with a start, they had a way to communicate now: the enchanted Galleons Fred and George had given him! He'd given one to Clark, and Clark had used it to signal him from the Fortress that something dangerous was going on there. Presumably Clark still had that Galleon, but hadn't used it since then.

He should have mentioned it to Clark's mother, but instead said, "If I hear from him I'll let him know you want to see him, Mrs. Kent."

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled. "You're a good boy."

Harry nodded, feeling guilty, and walked outside. He took several steps before lifting off in a low climb, then rapidly accelerated into the sky. But instead of speeding back to the Academy in seconds, he ascended to several thousand feet and about a thousand miles per hour — it would take him less than an hour to get back, but Harry was in no hurry now. He would only have to deal with Hermione's questions, Ginny's snooping after him, and Ron's — well, his growing envy, as Harry saw it, of his new abilities — and that was just of the few things he'd let them in on — no one knew of the full extent of his powers except Dumbledore and Clark.

But _What had happened to Clark_? was uppermost in Harry's mind at the moment. Harry had almost expected to see him at the Academy — learning wandless magic was much more advantageous than Hogwarts magic. Harry had seen that for himself in just the past few weeks of classes. At the very least, Clark should have let him know what he was up to. He might even be back east, in Metropolis, doing his Superman thing again, for all Harry had heard of things going on in the Muggle — or Mundane, he reminded himself — world.

Finally Harry caught sight of the river that ran through a part of the "safe" area surrounding the Academy. The river ran through a gorge; there was a long train trestle crossing the gorge, coming down from mountains to the west of it. There was a bluff overlooking the gorge, a clearing just at the edge of a grove of trees. Harry angled his flight downward, deciding to stop there for a bit, when he saw that the place was already occupied.

Focusing in with the enhanced vision, Harry saw it was one of the sixth graders from the school — Jonathan Clark. That was surprising, he thought—the place was quite a distance from the school, almost at the limit of the safe zone. Jonathan would have had to walk a long time to get there from the school. Harry changed the angle of his descent, landing some distance away inside the grove of trees beyond the clearing. He walked out into the clearing, coming up behind the young man, who seemed not to hear him. Jonathan was sitting near the edge of the bluff, looking out at the scene before him. It was quite beautiful here, Harry decided.

"'Lo," Harry said at last, after standing behind him for several seconds. The kid turned around, looking up at him in surprise.

"Oh, hi, Harry," he said. He had a young, eager face, much like Ricky, though he was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, rectangular rather than round — other than that, he looked similar to how Harry imagined he looked at around twelve, except Jonathan was a bit stockier than he'd been.

"I guess you know who I am?" Harry asked. The question was sincere, not ego-driven — Harry had always been surprised when everyone seemed to recognize him on sight, but it was a "benefit" of being the Boy-Who-Lived. Or perhaps a curse…

Jon looked at him. "Of course I do. I've been meaning to come talk to you —"

"What for?" Harry interrupted, surprised once again. He had kids at school pestering him all the time — they wanted to hear stories about Voldemort, or had questions about British magic, or just wanted to be around him.

"Harry, I —" Jon stopped, turning toward the gorge as a series of short train whistles suddenly sounded. Harry looked at well — his enhanced vision quickly locating the source: a train was coming down the mountain pass toward the gorge, traveling quite fast. There were more than one hundred cars making up this train; Harry wondered if the drivers would slow it down before they crossed the gorge. Suddenly Jon gripped his arm, pointing.

"Harry, the brakes must be out on that train!" he said, urgently. "It shouldn't be going that fast! We're going to have to slow it down!"

"What?" Harry said, dumbfounded. How could this kid know —?

But Jonathan wasn't waiting for him; he leaped off the bluff, an amazing jump that landed him on the floor of the gorge, unharmed, hundreds a feet closer to the trestle; he jumped again, up into the air, to land nimbly on the tracks in the middle of the trestle, a quarter-mile away. He waved to Harry, gesturing for him to follow. How could he —?

Suddenly things fell into place for Harry. Of course! It was Clark! Harry stepped forward, off the edge of the bluff, and flew over to where Clark was standing, in the middle of the trestle as the train bore down on them. "Clark? Is that _you_?" he asked.

Clark nodded hurriedly, but pointed toward the train. "Harry, you're going to have to slow the train down — you can use your flight power to do that!"

"I know," Harry nodded. "But what happened to —"

"I can explain afterwards," Clark interrupted him. "But for now, just slow the train down — don't stop it, we don't want anyone from the train getting off and looking around. They'll be able to stop it by the time they reach the next station." Clark turned toward the opposite end of the trestle and leaped — an arcing jump that landed him on the edge of the gorge. He turned to watch.

Harry turned to face the oncoming train. It was coming fast — Harry estimated it was traveling about a hundred miles an hour. Harry could _run_ faster than a hundred miles an hour, but he knew that the faster a massive object went, the more energy it took to slow it. With a 100-car train coming at him at over 100 MPH, its kinetic energy would take millions of foot-pounds to slow. He wouldn't be able to exert his flying power over the entire train, either; at best he would have to slow down the front engine, one of the heaviest cars on the train, and do so slowly enough that the other cars wouldn't jump the track as the train decelerated.

As the train approached Harry lifted just above the track, arms extended and hovering with zero stopping power initially. He would apply braking flight after the train began pushing him backward. The engine slammed into his hands, pushing the metal inward, and Harry began using his flying power to oppose the train's energy. There were a series of loud _bangs_ as car couplers slammed tight in a domino-effect When they stopped Harry began exerting even more against the train, and the squeal of locked metal wheels resounded throughout the gorge.

The front of the train passed over the opposite side of the gorge, where Clark watched as Harry passed by, still doing at least sixty miles an hour. Harry kept pushing against the engine, slowing it more and more, until he was nearly a mile from the gorge. He flew away from the train, now going about thirty miles an hour, keeping himself low so the engineers up front could not see him, and rejoined Clark back at the edge of the gorge.

Harry stood silently beside the twelve-year old Clark as the remainder of the train rolled by. He was trembling, but whether from anger at Clark, the excitement of the rescue he'd just performed, or just relief, he wasn't sure. Finally the last car rolled by, now traveling at a much safer speed of thirty miles an hour, and Harry turned to his Kryptonian friend.

"Why didn't you tell me you were at the school?" he demanded. Somehow, being taller than Clark made Harry feel he had the right to know this. "We've been there for _weeks_ now, and you've never said more than a word to me in the hallways!"

Clark smiled ruefully. "I know, Harry — I'm sorry. I wanted to, the first day we were there, but once Ricky found out I was from Kansas as well, he considered me an instant friend. Anyway," he grinned. "You should thank me — I've been keeping him away from you."

"What for?" Harry asked.

"He's been wanting to get into your group since the first day," Clark told him. "So do a lot of the other sixth and seventh graders — being part of Harry Potter's 'posse' is all they can talk about."

"Posse?" Harry looked surprised. "I'm not even sure what that is…"

"A gang," Clark clarified.

Harry just shook his head, dumbfounded at the idea. After a moment he looked down the track, toward the departing train. "Why did you have me slow the train? Why didn't you do it? And what's going on with you being _twelve years old_?"

"Professor Potter wanted me to blend in with the other students," Clark said, spreading his arms slightly. "He thought I could move around the school more easily if everyone thought I was a kid, too.

"Unfortunately," he went on, "the spell he used made me _completely_ twelve again — including my powers. At twelve, I could run fast and leap long distances, but I hadn't learned to fly yet."

"You can't remember _how_?" Harry wondered.

"I don't think it's that," Clark said. He closed his eye, concentrating for a second. He began to wobble, lifted off the ground a few inches, then settled back. "I can almost muster it," he said, opening his eyes again and looking at Harry. "But not quite. It does let me make long leaps and land more or less without smashing stuff, but I can't fly yet."

"How long are you going to be like this?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing that he was now the strongest person on Earth! "I mean, what if Luthor shows up again —?"

"The enchantment is only in effect as long as I'm within the safe zone of the school," Clark mentioned. "If I leave the area I'll revert to my adult self. But I only intend to do that once I've learned enough about magic to study it on my own."

"Oh," Harry said. "How long will that take, d'you think?"

Clark shrugged slightly. "At the rate I'm going through the library, I could be done in another month or so."

"That's _all_?" Harry looked surprised once again. "You must be reading lots of books every day!"

"A dozen or so a week," Clark nodded. "There's quite a bit to take in, I've found…. How are your friends doing, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry shrugged, recognizing the question as an attempt to deflect the conversation away from himself. "If you don't want to talk about it —"

"Harry, wait a minute," Clark held up his hand, and Harry fell silent. "We can talk about whatever you want, but —" he looked around. "Do you think we can go somewhere a bit more peaceful?"

Harry looked around. They were standing near the edge of a gorge, by a public railway. Except for anyone in the now-distant train and at the school, some miles away, there was no one else around. A smile slowly broke across his lips. It was hard to stay mad at Clark.

"Sure, I guess," he agreed. "I do have a couple of things to tell you — oh, and I just got back from your mom's house —"

"Follow me, then!" Clark said, turning and leaping away, a jump that took him toward the bluff where Harry had first found him. Harry followed, flying after him, and the two spent several hours chatting about Clark's mother, the classes at the Academy, and other things that occupy the minds of teenagers.

"Clea? No, I'd never heard of her," Clark was saying some time later, shaking his head. "I only know one female magic-user, offhand — she's the cousin of the Illusions teacher, Professor Zatara."

"That's the _only_ magical superhero you have?" Harry looked a bit disappointed — he thought wizards using their powers would be fairly common here in America, where the laws on magical secrecy seemed to be much more relaxed.

"Well, there was someone who used to call himself Doctor Fate," Clark recalled. "But he disappeared years ago, before I became Superman."

"Anyway," Harry went on, "I was in the library the first day, looking at the books, and I found her reading a book — or she found me! I think she was looking for me," he added, almost looking embarrassed but strangely proud at the same time. "She said she saw a lot of potential in me!"

Clark nodded, agreeing. "There _is_ a lot of potential in you, Harry." He was silent a few moments, then added, "I wouldn't read much more into what she said, however."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

Clark was silent for a while, thinking. "Well, I get the impression that you, well, 'like' her."

Harry grinned. "I _do_ like her. What's not to like about her? She's young, she's pretty…"

"She's also very powerful," Clark pointed out. "From what I've read, having the title of Sorcerer Supreme means she's the most magically powerful being on Earth. In fact, she may be responsible for the safety and integrity of our entire space-time dimension, if what I've been reading is true. Power like that can do unusual things to a person's viewpoint."

"So?" Harry shrugged. "What's wrong with that? Look at all the power you and I have, for instance! It hasn't turned us evil."

"Harry," Clark explained. "Power like Clea has makes you and me look like nothing. Not even Professor Potter, or Dumbledore could stand up to her, if she wanted to do something. I'm not saying you shouldn't like her… just that you should keep your perspective about who she is, and who you are."

Harry looked at Clark for several moments, then grinned. "Sure, Clark. I guess I can do that." He looked around. It was getting later in the afternoon. "I guess we better get back to the school — it's been several hours."

They both stood. "Do you want a lift?" Harry asked, holding out a hand.

"Nah," Clark said. "I can run back." He smiled. "I kind of miss running through the fields on my parents' farm, it'll be nice to run again for a while. See you back there, Harry." He took off.

Harry lifted into the air, arriving at the school a second or two later, well ahead of Clark. Now that he knew his friend was here, he felt better about things. And he was going to emulate Clark and begin reading at least a book or two a day — he'd just see how long it took him to read through the library!

It was just too bad Clark didn't seem happy for his interest in Clea. Harry thought he would have been happy for him to like someone like her. Harry shrugged to himself, deciding that Clark had his own issues to work out, maybe with that Lois Lane lady, and went to find Ron or Hermione.

=ooo=

**Author's Notes: ****A few review questions asked and answered.**

**Q: Not bad, its not going to be slash is it?  
****A: Nope.**

**Q: Since Harry is (much more beneficially) part Kryptonian now, could Clark/Kal-El stand as the blood relative for the Blood Wards?  
****A: Why? He could kick Voldemort's ass anytime now.**

**Q: It's looks like Harry got a crush on Clea...  
****A: Ya think?**

**Q: NO HARRY/GINNY, don't make me tell your mother. lol.  
****A: Harry and Clea, then?**

**Everyone have a Merry Christmas and a happy holiday season!**


	12. Kara Mia

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twelve  
****Kara Mia**

_Updated 8 January 2011_

There was one teacher at the Academy, Harry discovered, that he could not get along with. Ironically, it was the Potions Master, Professor Elric — an older man who, like Snape, was thin and wore his hair long and somewhat greasy; unlike him in that his hair was blond rather than black. Harry had thought nobody could be as dislikable as Snape, but Professor Edward Elric changed his tune about that very quickly. At least, Harry had to admit, Elric's ill-temper was directed toward all the students in his classes, and not just Harry or a particular group of students.

Elric had spent their first class trying to explain his philosophy of Equivalent Exchange; to Harry's ears, it was not much different than the first law of thermodynamics, that energy and matter were conserved; Elric's ramblings, however, added a lot of mumbo-jumbo to that concept, and near the end of the lecture, Harry raised his hand, causing Hermione and Ron to stare at him in surprise. Normally, Harry rarely spoke unless called upon. "Professor Elric, I have a question."

Elric gazed down his nose imperiously at Harry, then consulted his seating plan. "Yes — Potter, is it? What's your question?"

"Doesn't all that sound a bit convoluted to you?" Harry asked.

Elric frowned. "No, I'd say it's perfectly simple to me, Potter. As you are still young, you are obviously unversed in the more subtle aspects of magic. Were you raised in a Mundane family?"

"Er — well, yes —"

"As I thought," Elric concluded, dismissively. "You probably think of magic as some type of 'free lunch,' do you not?"

"No, but —"

"Good, because it is _not_," Elric cut him off once again. "Believe me, _I know_." But the professor refused to elaborate on this final statement, instead launching into a discussion of the class curriculum that lasted the rest of the period.

Subsequent classes were of the same tenor — Harry, becoming more and more immersed in the diversity of types of magic, was finding more and more reasons to doubt what they had been taught at Hogwarts.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove, Harry," Hermione told him some time later, during lunch in the cafeteria. "Unless it's that you just don't like Potions teachers, for some reason."

"Well, you have to admit," Ron told her, as he munched on a ham and cheese sandwich, "Elric's not a likeable bloke in the first place."

"Not really the point, Ron," Hermione said, a bit archly. "He's a teacher!"

"Oh yeah, I forgot — all teachers are perfect." Ron rolled his eyes at Harry and took another bite from his sandwich.

"My, aren't we full of wit and wisdom today," Ginny sneered, from somewhere down the table. Ron ignored the comment.

"My point is," Harry broke in, "is that a lot of what he's teaching us seems old-fashioned, considering what we've been learning about magic from the other teachers." Considering all the extra reading he'd been doing in the Library lately — since learning Clark was reading a dozen books a week, Harry had read at least one book a day from there as well; over the past three weeks he'd amassed quite a collection of magical studies. It was all a drop in the bucket, however, compared to how many books were left!

The chair next to him slid back, and Ginny seated herself next to Harry. "Hey, d'you want to go for a walk later?" she asked, casually. "I'm getting a little stir-crazy, cooped up with just my roommates after classes."

Harry was a bit taken aback by the request. Ginny had been much too busy last year with guys like Michael Corner, and had even gone out with Dean Thomas over the summer holiday, or so she had told her brothers, Fred and George. "Uh, well…"

"It's no big deal if you don't want to," she shrugged, starting to get up.

"No, it's not that," Harry said, quickly — he didn't want to hurt her feelings. In fact, a few months ago the idea would have been quite appealing. But, since he'd met Clea, Harry hadn't really thought about anybody else.

But again, there was no harm in taking a walk with a friend. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "Yeah, we can do that."

"Excellent!" Ginny said, grinning at him. "I'll meet you in the foyer after last period, okay?" Harry nodded, and Ginny touched him on the arm, then jumped up, saying, "I gotta get ready for class — see you, Harry!" and off she went, leaving Harry staring a bit warily after her.

He also couldn't fail to notice that both Hermione and Ron were watching this exchange rather keenly, probably each for their own reasons. Hermione had the telltale small quirk at the side of her mouth — she was pleased for some reason.

Ron, however, didn't seem quite as cheerful about it. On their way to their next class, he let Hermione walk ahead of them, then quietly asked Harry, "What was all that about with Ginny back there?"

"Huh? Oh," Harry shrugged, "she wanted to go for a walk after last period."

Ron put on a look of puzzlement. "With you?"

"Yeah."

"_Just_ you?" he seemed to be having trouble clarifying that idea in his mind.

"She didn't mention anyone else, that I recall," Harry said, evenly. "D'you have a problem with that?" Ironically, he was _hoping_ Ron did have a problem — it would solve his dilemma about hanging out with Ginny!

But Hermione had heard as well. She had stopped and turned to face both of them. "What's wrong with Harry and Ginny going for a walk?"

Ron got a little red-faced. "I didn't say _anything_ was wrong! I was just _surprised_ to hear about it, all of a sudden!"

Hermione looked at him shrewdly. "So you're okay with Ginny and Harry going for a walk, then, right? Right, Ron?"

"Er — don't rush me!"

"How could a question like that possibly _rush_ you, Ron?"

They were still bickering over it three hours later, near the end of the last period. At this point it had become a battle of wills between Hermione and Ron — Harry's opinion didn't seem to enter into it anymore. Harry finally shrugged, resigning himself to the walk, and dropped his bookbag off at his locker, then walked to the foyer to meet Ginny.

When he'd almost reached the foyer, however, Harry heard a door open behind him and a familiar voice said, "Hello, Harry." Turning, he found Clea smiling at him. "How've you been?"

"Fine," Harry smiled; it had been several weeks since they'd first met, and he had wondered when he'd see her around the school again. "Are you — um, here to do any, er, teaching?"

"I'm just visiting Stephen and a few of the other teachers," she said, giving him a thoughtful look. "But, you're right — I did mention giving you some lessons on being my student, didn't I?"

"Uh — yes," Harry agreed, suddenly very anxious to learn.

"Would you have some time this weekend to go on a short trip with me?"

"Um, sure," Harry agreed again. "Where would we be going?"

Clea moved a finger lazily in the air. "Oh, just — around. Show you a few things you'll need to know if you want to be Sorcerer Supreme someday." When Harry nodded agreeably she smiled. "Wonderful! I've got to run, Harry dear, but I'll find you here in the foyer Saturday morning. Around nine?"

Harry nodded a final time and she leaned forward, touching him on the cheek with her lips. "Until then." Clea disappeared, leaving Harry touching his cheek where she'd _kissed_ him.

"Wow," he breathed. He walked into the foyer, a distracted expression on his face, then froze when he saw Ginny standing near the exit. He glanced back toward the corridor. She wasn't in view when he heard Clea — but had she heard them talking?

It hadn't seemed she had, however, because she grinned at Harry when she saw him. "How's it going, Harry?" she asked. "Got any homework to worry about tonight?"

"Er — not really," he said. It was true enough; homework wasn't much of a problem anymore, not when he already read through all of books in all his classes. Ginny launched into a discussion on her studies, talking mostly about what she thought of the teachers, and Harry nodded every minute or so.

It was kind of interesting, in a way — Ginny had been well-known at Hogwarts, popular with students (especially boys, Harry knew, due to Ron and his brothers' complaints that she'd had "several" boyfriends in the past year, though it had only been Michael Corner and Dean Thomas), and liked by most of the teachers. She was doing pretty much the same thing here, Harry thought — he'd seen several boys talking to her in the halls in the past few weeks. Which was why it had surprised him when she'd asked him to go on this walk.

But it was turning out to be quite pleasant. Ginny was keeping most of the conversation going — all Harry did was occasionally nod, as if he were following along (he was covered if she asked a question about something she'd said, previously — his super-memory would recall every word of their conversation, if need be); she seemed happy to chatter about her roommates, Hermione, Ron's faults, and even mentioned a few lame passes the boys at the school had made at her in the past few weeks, which surprised him.

By the third such story, in which their roommate, Dalton, and his girlfriend tried to get Ginny to come to their room with them and "hang out," Harry turned to her. "I don't think Ron would like to hear that about our roommate."

"I don't intend to tell him," Ginny replied, matter-of-factly. "It's not any of his business."

"Then why tell me? I mean, he's my best mate, you know. He might want to know if some boy tried to kiss you."

Ginny snorted. "I'll bet — but that's only because the only women _he's_ ever kissed were Mum and Great Auntie Muriel!" Harry chuckled.

Then she floored him with her next question. "_You've_ kissed a girl, haven't you, Harry?" Harry stopped short, looking at her.

"Uh —"

"Cho Chang, wasn't it?" she went on, conversationally, though she was looking at him closely. "Oh, it's no big deal — I was dating Michael Corner at the time. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I'm not embarrassed," Harry said, starting to turn pink.

Her smile turned into a smirk. "Who were you talking to, earlier?"

"Earlier?" Harry repeated, blankly. "Earlier when?"

"When I was in the foyer, waiting for you, I heard you talking to someone."

"Oh, right," Harry nodded, mentally cursing. _She'd heard them_! "It was, um, Clea."

Ginny blinked. "You were talking to the Sorcerer Supreme? _That's_ impressive. What did she say to you?"

"She was, er, visiting Dr. Strange, she said," Harry said, which was the truth — or at least some of it.

"But what did she talk to you about?" Ginny pressed. "I mean, the conversation was more than just, 'Hello, how are you? Well, see you later.'"

"True," Harry admitted. "We were just —"

"You kissed her, didn't you?" Ginny asked suddenly. "I saw you!"

"I didn't!" Harry was shocked by the accusation. "She kissed me!"

"And you _let_ her?" Ginny looked outraged by this admission.

"I didn't even think about it!" Harry protested. "She just — _did it_ — all of a sudden…" He frowned. "It was just a kiss on the cheek, anyway. What's the big deal?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "What do you know about her?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? She's the ruddy Sorcerer Supreme!" Harry sputtered.

"Did you ever wonder why she hung out with an old wizard like Doctor Strange?" Ginny pointed out. "He was born in 1930, so he's over sixty years old. How old d'you think _she_ is?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "Twenty-four or twenty-five, I suppose."

"She's something like a thousand years old," Ginny said, with a tone of near-disgust. "And there are rumors that she's not even from this universe."

That seemed absurd, even to a sixteen-year old wizard with super-powers. "Come on, Ginny, A _thousand_ years? From another _universe_? How could any of that be true?"

"Isn't it _Voldemort's_ goal to live forever?" she pointed out. "Not so far-fetched. But I guess you've already made up your mind about Clea, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," she snapped, turning away "I don't want to talk about it any more — in fact, we're done with this walk. I'll talk to you later, Harry." She walked away from him, disappearing back the way they'd come.

_Well, that could have ended better_, Harry thought, confused and somewhat irritated. It had sort of solved his problem with telling her he wasn't really interested in dating her — he hoped.

After a minute, he took a few steps back toward the school, then stopped, deciding he didn't want to go back just now — there might be awkward questions from Hermione or Ron that he didn't feel like dealing with. Harry looked around, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. He felt like hitting something, just to relieve his frustration, but with his strength now he was liable to knock down a whole forest if he cut loose. Harry finally shook his head and _jumped_ — straight into the air, flying upward.

He stopped several thousand feet up, well out of view for most people staring casually into the sky, even if there were anyone out here who shouldn't see him in the air. Spinning slowly, Harry considered the countryside turning below him. It was too bad Sirius had been taken from him so soon after they found one another — he expected the ex-Marauder had a few tips on girls he could have given Harry. He'd even consider talking to Remus, if seeing him again wasn't going to be awkward. But it would be — how could he explain traveling six thousand miles just to ask him about dating!

But — there was _someone_, not nearly as far away, to whom he could go anytime with a problem, he hoped. Clark's mother, Martha Kent! But _should_ he go talk to her, knowing that Clark hadn't been back home to see her since August, and this would be his second visit in as many months? Briefly, Harry considered finding Clark and talking him into visiting his mother, just so he could find a few minutes alone with Clark, to see what ideas he had on this "girl problem." He certainly couldn't discuss it with Ron or Hermione!

But Clark, he knew, was caught up in reading through the Academy's Library — Harry saw him in there every day, always with a different book in front of him. Considering how much of an action guy Superman was, it was strange seeing a twelve-year old Clark who was such a bookworm.

Harry mentally shrugged. He wanted to talk to _somebody_, he decided — Clark's mom might even be a little more sympathetic to his problem than Clark seemed to be, the last time they talked. Harry willed his body forward, and within a few seconds he was soaring over the wheatlands of north central Kansas.

Harry landed next to the barn, flying downward at a speed that assured no one would see him land, and walked across the yard to the farm house's back door. It was an hour later here; it would be just about time for dinner, Harry thought, smiling in anticipation of a piece of apple pie for dessert. Mrs. Kent was always happy to have someone share her meals—

Harry froze just inside the kitchen door, staring in surprise at the person he'd found there. It wasn't Martha Kent, but a young girl, about his age, who was setting plates on the table. "Uh, sorry —" Harry said, just as Mrs. Kent walked in the kitchen as well.

"Goodness, dear!" she said, hand over her bosom. "What a surprise! I didn't expect to see you again so soon!"

The girl had set down the plates she'd been carrying. She looked at Mrs. Kent, then at Harry. "Are you — Clark?" she asked, cautiously.

"Oh, no dear," Martha said quickly. "This is a friend of his, Harry Potter." She smiled at Harry, then nodded at the girl. "Harry, this is my cousin, Linda."

"Hi," Harry nodded at her. Linda had shoulder-length blond hair and a set of crystal-blue eyes that gave her a striking appearance. "It's nice to meet you, Linda."

"Nice to meet you, too," she replied. But her tone didn't quite match the words — Harry had the impression she was just going through the motions of polite speech; she seemed very nervous in his presence, as if she were going to do or say something wrong.

"Well, Harry," Martha spoke suddenly, distracting him. "What brings you here? Was there something you needed?"

_Why _was_ he here_? Oh. "Er — just needed some time away…things, for a bit, I guess," he said, not wanting to discuss the real reason in front of Martha's cousin.

"Mmm," Mrs. Kent was giving him a penetrating look. "Linda's taking some time out from school as well," she said. "Well, why don't you have dinner with us, Harry?" Linda looked a bit startled, and Harry got the vibe that his joining them was unsettling to her.

"I don't want to be any trouble…"

"Oh, don't worry," Martha said reassuringly. "Linda's a bit shy, but having someone other an old lady to talk to will do her good. Don't you think so, Linda?"

Linda smiled weakly. "Yes, Mrs. Kent — Martha."

"Good!" she said brightly. "I've made too much pot roast anyway — this'll help me take care of the extra." She gestured for both of them to sit down, brought another plate for Harry, and they began the meal. It wasn't very fancy, but all of the food was delicious: the pot roast, steaming in gravy with chunks of potatoes, carrots and peas; something called _coleslaw_, creamy and cold, which Harry found interesting; thick slabs of home-baked bread, with butter and strawberry preserves. Harry dug right in, knowing Mrs. Kent liked to see a boy with a healthy appetite.

He also watched Linda eat. The young woman was eating slowly, taking tentative bites, as if she was unsure she would like the food. It seemed odd she would eat that way, unless she was not used to this type of food. Harry wanted to tell her, Mrs. Kent's food was every bit as good as the food he'd had at Hogwarts and the Academy, but it would be too difficult to explain without giving something away, so he just smiled at her. Linda didn't have much to say, she just listened as Mrs. Kent filled Harry in on Linda's situation.

"Linda will be staying here for now, with me," Mrs. Kent was telling him. "She was telling me that she came ahead of her parents, who are planning on joining her."

Harry nodded. "Where are your parents, now?" he asked her.

Linda looked at him blankly for a moment. "Well—"

"Linda may not be comfortable discussing her parents, Harry," Martha put in, quickly. "We're not sure when they'll be able to join her. It could be some time before they're able to get here."

"Well, it seems like something could be arranged," Harry suggested, knowing he could fly just about anywhere he needed to, to bring them back. Hell, he could fly all the way around the _world_ in just a few seconds, if he needed to!

Linda stood suddenly. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, flatly, then looked at Mrs. Kent. "I'm done eating, if that's okay with you, Mrs. Ke— Martha." When she nodded, Linda turned and walked out the back door.

Harry looked at Mrs. Kent, "I just wanted to help," he told her.

Martha reached over, patting him on the hand. "I know, dear," she told him. "It's an unusual situation — we'll just have to see what happens."

"Well, if there's anything I can do —" Harry offered.

"Yes," Martha said. "Be her friend. Just don't push too hard; she's a very private person. I'm sure when she's ready, she'll open up to you."

"What about Clark?" Harry asked. "He doesn't know about her, does he?"

Martha shook her head. "She arrived only a few weeks ago, just after the last time we spoke. I didn't know who she was, at first, until she explained the situation to me."

"So what _is_ the situation?" Harry wanted to know.

Martha looked contrite. "She'll have to tell you that when she's ready, Harry." She smiled. "Now, I'm sure you're ready for a big piece of apple pie before you head back to school, aren't you?"

Harry couldn't argue with _that_. "Yes, please," he said, grinning. As Martha sliced the pie, Harry glanced behind him, looking through the farmhouse wall toward the barn, where he saw Linda walk inside. _A strange girl_, he thought. But then, knowing people like Luna Lovegood, who was probably even stranger, he got along with her well enough; he should be able to make friends with Linda, too.

=ooo=

Lex Luthor was settled comfortably in a lounge chair in the grand ballroom (now his lavish, personal office) on the Alexandria, reading Stamford's notes for the day on the breakdown of their rather unusual guest, Mr. Dedalus Diggle. He had proven to be quite a valuable asset in his search for the mystery of the Man of Steel's "little buddy." It turned out Diggle knew quite a bit about him.

The kid was one Harry Potter, a British citizen who lived in Little Whinging, Surrey, with his aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and attending a special school in the north named "Hogwarts." This school taught _magic_.

"This is nuts," Stanford had told him, not long after Diggle had begun to divulge tidbits of information. "Magic isn't real — it's just superstitious beliefs, or else sleight-of-hand tricks."

" 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,'" Luthor quoted, "'Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Do you have a better explanation for what happened to us in Superman's Fortress?"

Stanford shrugged. "'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,'" he said, quoting Clarke's third law.

Luthor chuckled. "Granted. However—" he reached into his pocket of his lounge jacket, removing a thin piece of wood. "— _this_ makes it real."

"That doesn't really prove anything," Stanford objected. "As far as we can tell, it's just a piece of wood, hollowed out, with some kind of material threaded through it."

"And how about this?" Luthor asked, taking out the handle of the broken kryptonite blade. It no longer glowed green, having been changed to granite. "Matter doesn't spontaneously transmute from one form to another."

"Yeah…" Stanford admitted. "That's a bit…harder to explain."

Now, a week later, Luthor was even more convinced that Diggle was going to be the key to the biggest scheme of his career. If going criminal had made him infamous, this might even make him famous again, though he had something quite different than scientific inquiry in mind.

What interested Luthor most was the school, Hogwarts — mostly in the fact that it might exist at all. Wizards, it seemed, were born, not made — so why have a school at all, unless there were a sufficient number of wizards living in England that they needed to be educated as a group, rather than by apprenticeship. Having Stanford dig deeper into Diggle's memories, Luthor found out this was just the case. In fact, there was a whole shadow government operating throughout Britain!

What was most intriguing in all this was Harry Potter himself. According to Diggle, Potter was the most famous boy in Wizarding Britain — he was the "Boy Who Lived," the only person known to survive a Killing Curse, which had been cast on him by a Dark wizard named Voldemort, whom everyone referred to as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," for fear of saying his name aloud. Luthor smirked; even though these wizards seemed capable of controlling energies most humans couldn't, they still had human failings — even _they_ were superstitious to some extent.

Also, somehow, this Potter kid had gained super-powers. Did he use magic to achieve this? Was Superman susceptible to magic, like kryptonite? Luthor had reasoned he must be, though he might be more resistant than normal humans. And this is what had given Lex his great idea: _Could he find a way for magic to make _himself_ super-powered_?

He had two magical artifacts, a broom and a wand. And now he had a magical person and a growing collections of information about magical people and their world. There were places he could go, even in London, to be in the midst of wizards, in their own environment. Not that he would be foolish enough to visit them, without adequate safeguards, and he was still learning those. But with a bit more work, Diggle would be convinced he was one of them and would follow Luthor's orders. Once he was sure he had turned him, Luthor had a few errands in mind for the old wizard.

Before long, Luthor smiled, he would be able to locate this Harry Potter, and find out how he was able to gain super-powers. Once he had that, and his own personal wizard, Luthor knew, _nothing_ would be able to stop him.


	13. When Harry Dated Clea

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Thirteen  
****When Harry Dated Clea**

_Updated 21 January 2011_

By the end of October, Luthor's indoctrination of Dedalus Diggle into his service was nearing fruition. The old wizard now accepted Luthor as a trusted friend, and had given him many quite a lot of useful information about the Wizarding world. Diggle had described Diagon Alley and its various stores; Luthor had toyed with the idea of breaking into Gringotts, but abandoned it (at least temporarily) once Diggle had described the nature of goblins and what was known of their in-bank security. It was believed by Dumbledore and the Order, Diggle said, that only He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had attempted to rob the bank, and the single item he'd tried to steal, the Philosopher's Stone, had already been removed from the vault where it was hidden.

Luthor had lusted to get his hands on the Stone, but learned through Diggle that the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had it destroyed. The acknowledged creators of this priceless stone, Nicholas and Pernelle Flamel, were by now presumably dead, so they could not be questioned about it.

"Why would he do such a thing?" Luthor asked Diggle, curious about the reasoning behind destroying an artifact as precious as the Philosopher's Stone.

"Professor Dumbledore's about the smartest wizard there ever was," Diggle told him. "If he thought the Stone ought to be destroyed, well, I guess old Flamel just went along with him on it."

To Luthor this seemed highly unlikely. According to historical accounts, Flamel was born around 1330; if he was the same man Diggle was describing, he was well over 600 years old — a man who creates a way to keep himself alive for that long does _not_ simply throw it away! Even if the Stone had been given up, Luthor decided, Flamel would have kept the method for its re-creation safe. Flamel himself was likely hiding out from even the Wizarding world now. But finding Flamel was merely one of his contingency plans. Potter was his primary interest.

Luthor was also fascinated by the histories of the other two prominent wizards in this hidden society: Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. Both, according to Diggle, were very intelligent men, both very old, and they had engaged each other in a war of wills and magic that seemed to have spanned decades. Diggle was full of stories about Voldemort, who had grown in importance after the previous "Dark Lord," a wizard named Grindlewald, had been defeated by Dumbledore, until he began a reign of terror throughout Britain that lasted a decade, seemingly unstoppable.

Then, suddenly, at the height of his power, Voldemort disappeared, after attacking Harry Potter and his parents in their home in a small village in southwest England, Godric's Hollow. His parents were killed, and Harry disappeared, only to surface ten years later at Hogwarts. Diggle intimated that this was all Dumbledore's doing, that he hidden Harry away, to keep him from falling into the hands of Voldemort's followers.

Now, however, Voldemort was back, somehow! "How could that be?" Luthor asked. "You said that the house blew up around him."

"Well, he _is_ a Dark wizard, Mr. Luthor," Diggle pointed out.

"But you _also_ said, no one can be brought back from the dead," Luthor reminded him.

Diggle shook his head. "That's true enough, too — yet there it is. You-Know-Who had found a way back, somehow, an' he'd used Harry Potter's blood to do it. I saw the mark his lackey's knife left in Harry's arm, before it was healed."

This was becoming more and more interesting, beyond Luthor's bid for power of his own. Dumbledore and Voldemort would make for interesting adversaries to test his wits against, if it came to that. But, if he got what he wanted, they would become irrelevant anyway.

"Very interesting, Mr. Diggle," he told the man, writing out a list of topics on a piece of paper. "I'd like to study things in more detail. If you could just pop down to that book store you say is in Diagon Alley, and find some books on these subjects, I'd be grateful."

"Delighted to, Mr. Luthor," Diggle smiled, taking the list. Flourish and Blotts has an extensive selection — I should have no trouble procuring these for you." So saying, he took the wand Luthor offered him, tipped his hat, and disappeared.

"Are you sure you trust 'im, boss?" Brutus asked a moment later, from the doorway of the ballroom. "I can't see him comin' back."

"He'll be back," Luthor said, smoothly. "He's completely convinced of my good intentions." Luthor smiled, evilly. "Of course, he doesn't know me very well, does he?"

"No, Mr. Luthor," Brutus grinned.

=ooo=

The Friday of Harry's first date with Clea finally arrived, and Harry found himself both eager and apprehensive. He had not seen her since she asked to take him on a little trip, to show him some things he would need to know if he wanted to become Sorcerer Supreme one day; on the other hand, he wasn't sure if she meant this to be purely a student-teacher thing.

There was also those things Ginny had said about her, like the rumors that she was a thousand years old and from a different dimension. But that was all Harry could see them as — rumors. Things that girls made up about other girls to put them down, or make themselves feel better. Harry wouldn't have thought Ginny was that type.

"You look pretty chipper today," Hermione remarked, as they arrived at the cafeteria at the same time that morning.

"Well, it's Friday," Harry smiled, not wanting to give the real reason for his demeanor — he'd walked into breakfast smiling, unlike Ron, who still looked mostly asleep, and still grumpy. Harry and Ron plopped down into their seats, but Hermione remained standing. "Are you having breakfast?" Harry asked her.

Hermione was staring down the table. "I…think…I'm sitting over there today," she pointed at another table, where Ginny and a few of her friends were sitting. "See you in Potions," she added, their first class on Fridays, then walked over to join the other girls.

_Hmm_, Harry thought. _No good can come of that_. He glanced back at Ron, who had poured a couple of small boxes of cold cereal into a bowl, filled it with milk, and was now tossing spoonfuls of sugar over it. "Wonder what _they're_ up to?"

Ron threw a glance over his shoulder at the group of girls, then looked back at Harry with a smirk. "I hear they're looking for a girlfriend for you, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Now how do you know _that_?"

"Ginny's been askin' me if you've been talking about any girls in particular," Ron answered, in a low voice, between mouthfuls of cereal. "They may be trying to fix you up."

Harry looked a bit startled. "They don't need to fix me up!" he hissed. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself — if I wanted to go out!" he added.

Ron shrugged and took another bite of cereal. "Why fight it?" he asked. "Who knows — you might even like who they pick." He frowned. "But what if _I_ like who they pick for you, too?"

"They're _not_ going to pick somebody for me, Ron," Harry told him, unequivocally. "I don't need a bunch of girls trying to find me a date!"

Ron smiled at this. Harry wondered if he was afraid they would stop being best mates if he got a girlfriend. "That a way, Harry! Don't let 'em tell you what to do!" He began happily scooping up the last of his cereal.

Harry focused his super-hearing on the table where Hermione, Ginny and her friends were sitting, listening in on their whispered conversation.

"_I still can't figure out what Harry's up to_," Hermione was saying.

_Great_, Harry thought dismally. _She's suspicious of me, for some reason_.

"_Do you think Ron's told him about us yet_?" Ginny asked.

_Us_? Harry wondered, _us what_?

"_Knowing Ron, I expect so_," Hermione said, plaintively. "_They've both been watching us since I came over_."

"_He never could keep a secret_," Ginny muttered.

"_It's not like nobody in your family knows about it, Gin_," Hermione told her. "_You told me what happened the first time you saw him at the Burrow, when you walked into the kitchen in your nightclothes and he was sitting there_."

"_Ohmigod_," one of the other girls said. "_In your _nightclothes?"

"_It was a dressing gown_," Ginny said, still sounding mortified. "I_ could've _killed_ Mum for not letting me know he was there_!"

Harry shut off his super-hearing. The gist of what he was getting was that Ginny was the one interested in him, which he had suspected. She had walked away, angry, several days ago after discovering that he'd been talking to Clea. Had she changed her mind, or had that just been an act?

"Hey," Ron said, looking up from his empty cereal bowl. "How about a game of wizard chess after classes?"

"Can't," Harry said, automatically. "Got a —" he hesitated for a moment, realizing he'd almost said "date" without thinking. "— a — er, project I've got to get done."

"On Friday?" Ron looked surprised.

"I'd rather get it done tonight and have the weekend free," Harry hastily improvised. He didn't want to lie to Ron, but he couldn't let him know what he was doing this afternoon, not after his comments about dating. Besides, with this being his first date with Clea, he'd rather see how things went before he admitted he was seeing her.

After the final class of the day, Harry headed straight out of class and back to his dorm, to drop off his backpack. He locked it in his trunk, adding an extra spell to make the lock super-secure. Harry smirked at the phrase he'd used, but it seemed a necessary precaution, especially if he was being stalked. Even Ron might be curious enough to sneak a peak inside his trunk, if he thought there might be a clue to "what Harry was up to."

He had told Ron he would be in the Library after class, working on his project. Ron had said he was going back to the dorm to rest for a bit before dinner — he found the magical courses at the Academy a bit more tiring than Hogwarts classes, for some reason — and would meet Harry in the cafeteria at dinner time. If Harry knew Ron, though, he would sleep right through dinner if Harry didn't come and wake him up. If he didn't, Hermione would probably check up on him and find him sleeping. That gave Harry until just about the end of dinner to have his first date with Clea.

From the doorway of his dorm, Harry took off at super-speed, moving through mostly empty corridors in a roundabout path to the front foyer, avoiding areas where Hermione or Ginny were likely to be. They wouldn't be able to see him, but it would be better if he didn't even get near them on his way there. He _really_ didn't want anything messing up his first opportunity to go out with Clea!

When Harry arrived in the foyer, Clea was standing near the front doors, dressed in what looked like a purple armored body stocking. Harry glanced down at the slacks and pullover shirt he was wearing.

"Hi, Harry," she smiled at him. "Not quite what you expected to see me wearing, is it?"

"Uh, no," Harry said, then added, "I mean, it's really, um, nice-looking."

"Thanks," Clea laughed. "It's just some old thing I've had forever."

Harry glanced around, wondering what they would do next; he was apprehensive about someone else walking into the foyer and seeing them together, certain that news would quickly find its way back to Ginny. Clea watched him for a second, then asked, "Afraid someone will see us, Harry?"  
"Uh—"

"Don't worry," Clea told him, standing next to him and putting her arm in his. "No one has been able to see either of us since you entered this room."

"What do you mean?" Harry blinked.

"I've made both of us invisible to everyone around us," Clea explained. "I thought we might take a little stroll together, and I can show you what it means to be Sorcerer Supreme. Would you like to do that?"

Harry nodded; mostly, because he wanted to spend time with Clear, not from any great desire to become Sorcerer Supreme — at least, not anytime soon. At the moment there were too many unknowns entailed in that title for him to want to rush in. That, and having watched Dr. Strange after he'd lost the position, seeing how brilliant as he was with magic, made Harry wonder if he could ever learn enough to be that good, even _with_ super-powers to augment his magic.

"Good," Clea smiled. "Let's be going, then." They disappeared.

They reappeared a moment later, on a darkened platform, high in the air. "Do you recognize this place?" Clea asked him. Harry looked around, using his enhanced vision to see in the dark, but was puzzled for a few seconds until he glanced down and saw the structure beneath them.

"This is the Eiffel Tower!" he said, looking at her. "Did you teleport us all the way here from Montana?"

"Of course," Clea said; she looked a bit disappointed, as if she'd expected him to be more impressed. Harry still couldn't perform teleports of distances like this, but she didn't know he could _fly_ from Montana to Paris in about five seconds, if he wanted. "I suppose you don't care for Paris, then?"

"No, it's not that —" Harry started to say, but they'd disappeared before he could finish. They reappeared, still in darkness, in front of a stone rampart. For a moment it seemed as if they had materialized on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, but as he looked left and right he realized the "rampart" extended into the distance in both directions. They were standing on top of a huge stone wall, which could only be a section of the Great Wall of China!

"Wow," Harry muttered, looking around. "We're in China…"

"We're bound to get better Chinese here than the egg rolls from the Academy cafeteria," Clea grinned. "Are you hungry?"

"Erm — " Harry stammered. "I don't really care for Chinese," he finally got out. "The family I lived with back in England — the Dursleys — would leave me boxes of Chinese take-away to eat whenever they left for a few days."

"Oh, my!" Clea looked shocked. "They left you alone in the house?" Harry nodded.

"That seems foolish, seeing how useful magic can be for non-magicals," Clea said, looking indignant.

"Well, that was before I knew I was a wizard," Harry said. "But I don't know how much it would have mattered — my aunt and uncle hated magic."

"Interesting," Clea said softly, looking at him. "When were you told you were a wizard?"

"When I turned eleven," Harry replied, looking at her. He was beginning to warm up to the conversation. "Hogwarts was trying to send me a letter but my uncle kept stopping me from getting it — we finally ended up in some lighthouse off the coast, in a storm, when Hagrid showed up just at midnight on my birthday, with the letter to give to me."

"Here," Clea said, pointing to a stool, and Harry realized that they'd teleported once again, this time to a small roadside café, where an elderly Chinese gentleman smiled awaiting their orders. "Have a seat — let's get comfortable."

Harry sat, and Clea took the stool next to him, rattling off their orders to the old man, who nodded and began preparing meals for them. "You've come quite a ways since then, haven't you?" she asked. "Your magic seems quite powerful."

Harry glanced toward the old man, cautious about speaking openly, but Clea shook her head. "Don't worry, he doesn't understand English — and I've cast a spell that will keep anyone near us from hearing what we say anyway."

Obviously, however, Harry could say nothing about the increase in his magic since he acquired some of Superman's superpowers. "I figured coming to the Academy was a way for me to kill two birds with one stone," Harry said. "I would be able to learn more magic than I could at Hogwarts, better preparing myself for the day I might have to fight Voldemort.

"And, by leaving England," he continued. "I've given Voldemort less reason to terrorize people, looking for me." Clea chuckled, and their bowls of food arrived.

"What's funny—? Mmmm," Harry smelled the aroma of the food, a type of noodles mixed with stir-fried vegetables. He looked around for a fork, but found only a pair of sticks. Clea had picked up hers and was expertly picking a few noodles and eating them. Harry carefully imitated her — his super control allowed him to make a passable effort without appearing too clumsy.

Clea put down her chopsticks. "I'm sorry, Harry, it's just that I find your naiveté a little amusing."

"Naiveté?" Harry looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"This Voldemort person you spoke of does want your death," Clea said. "But his primary motivation since reviving himself has been the takeover of the Ministry of Magic." Harry sat back on his stool, pondering that statement.

"Even now," Clea continued, "he has operatives inside the Ministry, awaiting his orders to enthrall or kill the Minister and certain key officials in his bid to take over the government. Not directly, of course — I suspect he's waiting until he can consolidate his power over the school as well. Once he controls both the government and the educational system of your country, he will openly begin to rule Magical Britain. Shortly after that he will attempt to subjugate the Muggles."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "How — how can you know all this?" he asked.

"Harry, dear, I'm the Sorcerer Supreme," Clea said, as if that should be the obvious reason. "Reading that simpleton's mind is hardly a difficult trick."

Harry put down his bowl. "I have to go back, and stop him!"

"At this very moment?" Clea asked. She reached out, putting a hand on his cheek. Harry froze, startled by the gesture. "We have time to finish our stroll at least, don't we?"

Her hand against his skin was intoxicating, making him forget about the danger posed by Voldemort. "Y-yes," he nodded, unable to resist. "I want —"

"Oh, I know what you want, Harry Potter," Clea cooed. "But that will come later, after I'm sure you're the one _I_ want." She moved her hand over the counter and a handful of coins appeared. The old man smiled and bowed, never noticing that the two strange foreigners then disappeared right in front of him.

They reappeared in an opulent throne room, in front of a pair of glittering thrones; Clea sat on the larger throne, gesturing for Harry to sit as well. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around apprehensively as he did so.

He looked back at her and gasped, startled by what he saw: Golden flames were now emanating from her hair and face, though they seemed not to harm her. "Did — did you know you're on fire?" he asked her, as she looked at him.

"These are the Flames of Regency, Harry," she told him. "We are in my home, the Dark Dimension."

"So — you _are_ from another dimension!" Harry said, now looking at her with near revulsion. "Are you really a thousand years old?"

"Much older, really," Clea smiled. "Does that bother you, Harry?" she asked, seeing the look on his face.

Harry didn't answer. He looked around the throne room, taking in its size and splendor. "What I don't understand is, with all this," he gestured at the room, "what you need with someone like me."

"You underestimate yourself, Harry," Clea said, a bit reprovingly. "You are quite a powerful wizard, easily the most powerful I've met on your world — you have even more natural magical power than Stephen possessed when I first met him. That intrigues me."

Harry didn't like how that sounded. "Why?"

"When I realized that your power rivaled Stephen's, I knew I had to bring you over to my side, to help me protect my dominion from any — incursions."

"I don't see how you can expect any willing help from me, now," Harry said, flatly. "You did something to make me forget about Voldemort, momentarily, but I've shaken that off."

"I lifted its effects once we arrived here," Clea informed him. "You will not be able to return to the Earth dimension unless I allow it, Harry. I want you to help me of your own free will."

Harry looked around again, then back at Clea. "I don't think that's going to happen, now," he told her, a tone of defiance in his voice.

"Oh, I'm still going to help you get rid of Voldemort," she added. "He won't be a problem."

But Harry had recalled something else. "There's also the matter of the curse on Professor Dumbledore's hand. I wanted to find a counter-curse to remove it."

"Oh, yes…" Clea looked thoughtful for a moment. "That curse…"

Harry stared at her. "You know about that curse?"

"Of course, Harry, I'm the —"

"Sorcerer Supreme, right," Harry finished. "Is there are counter-curse for it?"

"Voldemort created that curse expressly for protecting his ring Horcrux," Clea stated. "Of course he did not bother with a counter-curse." Harry slumped, realizing that Dumbledore was doomed.

"And of course," Clea went on, slyly, "As Sorcerer Supreme I have the ability to break any curse."

Harry's eyes widened with hope, but narrowed again when he saw her point. "So you're going to force me to do you bidding by offering to cure Professor Dumbledore if I — do what?"

Clea folded her arms across her chest, giving him a reproving look once again. "I'm not going to _force_ you to do anything, Harry. I'm going to help you get rid of this Voldemort character, and I'm going to cure your precious Professor Dumbledore — something not even Professor Snape, whom you loathe, has been able to do so far. All I'm asking is that you help me protect my domain."

"And how am I going to do that?" Harry wanted to know.

"Dormammu will shortly make an effort to retake the Dark Dimension from me once again," Clea told him. "He has been gathering power for some time, forcing me to do the same."

"Who is Dormammu?"

"He is my uncle, murderer of my mother and father," she replied, her voice hard with hatred. "It was he who first subjugated the Dark Dimension, untold millennia ago, and enslaved all of the inhabitants of this domain. He and Stephen have done battle for many decades as he tried to add Earth to his list of conquests."

"What about getting Dr. Strange to help you?" Harry asked.

"Stephen no longer has the power — or the inclination — to help me," Clea replied, flatly. "When he gave up being Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, the mystic energies passed to the next worthy person capable of holding the title, which was me. But even with his power, and yours, Harry, it will be a near thing — Dormammu is very powerful, even in his weakened state. But I am determined to keep him from taking over this domain once again, and enslaving all the people."

Harry dithered. He didn't like the idea of people being enslaved, either. "So, once you stop this Dormammu, what happens?"

"Then we go back to Earth, I take care of Voldemort, cure Professor Dumbledore, and we're even."

"What do you mean by 'take care of Voldemort'?"

She gave him a condescending look. "What do you think? I mean kill him. Isn't that what _you're_ supposed to do, that quaint little prophecy Dumbledore puts so much faith in?"

Harry had nothing to say to that — he _was_ supposed to kill Voldemort, somehow, though he was never sure how he was going to match his magic until he got superpowers. But if he helped Clea, she could solve that problem and remove Dumbledore's curse, as well!

Besides that, he was stuck here unless he could trick Clea into returning him to Earth. "I'm not going to know how to help you," he reminded her, "unless you plan on showing me what you need me to do."

"True," Clea agreed, readily. "You'll need some training to increase your magical power to even greater capacity than it is now." She stood. "Come, we'll begin now."

"Shouldn't I go back, before I'm missed?" Harry suggested, casually. "I don't know how long you intend to keep me here, but—"

"Nice try, Harry," she cut him off, smiling. "But the Dark Dimension has the advantage of time moving at different rates in different regions, which I can control. I can give you several months of training in the equivalent of an Earth weekend. There's no need for you to return to Earth until _after_ you and I have repelled Dormammu."

Harry fell silent, knowing he was beaten, at least for now. He remembered the Yule Ball, with Parvati, that was a fiasco, then the Valentine Day outing with Cho Chang that turned into a disaster, and now this! No wonder he hated dating!

=ooo=

"I believe that concludes our business for today," Albus Dumbledore intoned, bringing the latest Order of the Phoenix meeting to an end. "I hope to see you all again next month."

Mrs. Weasley stood. "Would anyone like more tea?"

"That would be delightful, Molly," Dumbledore murmured. Arthur nodded and held up his cup as well. Most of the other members were making their apologies before leaving; only Snape and Moody hung back; Snape shook his head, as usual, at the offer of food or drink, while Moody accepted only a splash of tea and drank it almost immediately.

"Noticed Diggle wasn't here again," he said as he put down the cup. "This is the second meeting he's missed in as many months."

"I'd noticed that as well, Alastor," Dumbledore said, sipping at his own cup.

"Did he say anything about taking a trip somewhere, or visiting someone?"

"Not as far as I recall," Dumbledore replied. "And of course, my recall is excellent."

"Mmmm," Moody looked unhappy. "The old berk is probably off wandering the streets of some Muggle city in some ridiculous getup, frightening the Muggles. He never did have much sense, that one."

"We could have Kingsley make some inquiries," Arthur suggested. "Under the pretense of having him brought in for questioning on some matters he's made known to the Ministry in the past."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then nodded. "That is an excellent idea, Arthur. It's not like Dedalus to remain incognito for so long." He drained the last bit of tea from his cup, then smiled appreciatively at Mrs. Weasley.

"Excellent tea, Molly!" he told her, and Molly beamed back at him.

"Thank you, Albus!" she said, and reached for the teapot. "Would you like some more?"

Dumbledore held up a long-fingered hand. "Thank you, but no — Severus and I must be on our way back to Hogwarts."

At the mention of Hogwarts Molly's features fell slightly. "I wonder how they're all doing right now, over there in America…"

"I'm sure they're all doing quite well," Dumbledore said, smoothly, as Snape let out an almost inaudible sigh. "Perhaps when they return for the Christmas break they will be able to regale you with the magic they've learned thus far."

Molly snorted. "We'll see," she said, still unconvinced about the usefulness of American magic. "Lot of fancy tricks rather than a good, solid Hogwarts education, is what I think!"

Dumbledore inclined his white-haired head. "I'm gratified by the trust you put in our education system, Molly."

"Well, if it was good enough for Arthur and me, it ought to be good enough for all my children," Molly added, a bit heatedly. "I just hope they come to their senses and decide to come back next year."

"Only time will tell," Dumbledore said. "Well, we'll be off. Thank you again for looking after Grimmauld Place, Molly."

"My pleasure, Albus."

"Come, Severus." Dumbledore and the Potions teacher made their way up the stairs and down the hallway to the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The headmaster stepped onto the threshold, turned on his heel, and vanished, followed a moment later by Snape.

They both arrived several yards from the front gates of Hogwarts. Snape started toward the gates, but Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping him. "The situation with Dedalus _is_ worrisome," he said, softly. "Being the naturally gregarious person that he is, he would not remain out of view this long of his own volition."

"What are you suggesting?" Snape asked, frowning.

"I do not know," Dumbledore shook his head. "But I doubt Arthur will find any leads at the Ministry, nor will Kingsley if he uses normal Auror methods. This may require your special touch, Severus."

"So, on top of everything else," Snape said, sounding bitter, "you want me to find your lost Order member?"

"I understand you are quiet adept at sneaking about," Dumbledore said, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Snape sighed once again. "I'll see what I can come up with."

"Splendid!" Dumbledore beamed. "Now, we should be getting along inside — the Gryffindor team plays Slytherin today, I believe." He took out his wand and tapped the padlock on the gates. The lock snapped open and the chains slid away, allowing the gates to slowly open.

"Yes." Snape almost smiled as he followed the headmaster inside. "I'm looking forward to a game with no Harry Potter in it to cause trouble."

"Tut, tut, Severus," Dumbledore shook his head. "I always thought Harry's gameplay added an element of excitement to the old sport."

"Yes, but then, you've coddled the boy since his first year," Snape pointed out, sourly. "One might think that his leaving the school showed his ingratitude."

"This is a chance for Harry to flex his wings a bit," Dumbledore replied, waxing a bit poetic. "I may have been a bit overprotective, but when you consider how important he is —"

"Oh, really?" Snape gave the headmaster an impatient glare. "You let him run off quickly enough, when it suited his fancy."

Dumbledore took the comment in stride. "It was his decision to make, Severus — I simply supported it this time, rather than trying to undermine it."

"I shouldn't even be complaining," Snape mused, as they reached the front doors of the school and passed through into the Entrance Hall. "Potter's gone, something I've wanted for the past five years."

Snape turned toward the entrance to the dungeon, but stopped and looked back at Dumbledore. "Will you be joining Professor McGonagall and me at the game, Headmaster?"

"Yes," he nodded, "though I have spot of business to take care of first, up in my office."

Snape nodded and strode over and to the door leading down to his own office, his black robes swirling around him. Dumbledore ascended the main staircase, making his way to the corridor on the seventh floor containing a stone gargoyle. Arriving in front of it, Dumbledore nodded and said, "Good morning, Cuthbert."

The gargoyle leapt aside, giving the headmaster access to the moving stairwell that transported him to his office. Dumbledore let himself inside, then walked over to one of the spindly tables holding numerous small, silver devices. He took out his wand and tapped one of them, saying "Harry James Potter" as he did so. The mechanism began to move, small chuffs of steam shooting from it every second or so, as Dumbledore checked his desk for any owl posts.

Not finding any, he turned back to the silver device as it spit out a small strip of parchment. Dumbledore took the parchment, a look of surprise coming over his face as he read,

_Trace for Harry James Potter — location unknown_

"Interesting," Dumbledore muttered. And a bit alarming — the _Trace_ was the spell used by the Ministry to track all underage wizards. It could not be removed until the witch or wizard reached the age of seventeen, which for Harry was more than half a year away. The only thing that could end it prematurely was — death.

Dumbledore shook his head, unwilling to believe the worst had occurred. But now, he decided, they would have to step up the search for Diggle, as well as try to ascertain what had happened to Harry. Snape could handle the search for Dedalus, while he would have a chat with Professor Potter. Without Harry, the Wizarding world could be in grave peril from Voldemort's threat. Glancing at his withered right hand, Dumbledore knew it would not be he who vanquished the villain this time — only Harry could do that, and now he was gone, after Dumbledore let him out of the safety of the school.

Dumbledore sighed; Severus may have been correct in this instance, he might have chosen wrong in letting Harry have his freedom, too soon.


	14. Where's Harry?

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Fourteen  
****Where's Harry?**

_Updated 11 February 2011_

Ron entered the Academy Library Saturday evening for the tenth time that day, feeling rather frustrated with his friend Harry Potter. Harry had told him, _yesterday_, that he would be in the Library working on a project that he wanted to get done so he could have the weekend free.

That was the last Ron had seen of him.

It wasn't like Harry to duck out on him, Ron knew. They were best mates, after all! Although, he reconsidered, there were times when he just didn't feel like being around Harry — it was hard to hang out with the Boy Who Lived. _Not_ because he was jealous, of course — he'd already dealt with his share of jealousy, what with being the younger brother of Bill and Charlie Weasley, who were both smart and popular — Bill was a Cursebreaker at Gringotts, and Charlie worked with dragons in Romania, both very cool jobs in Ron's estimation (although he'd never, _ever_ want to be around dragons, not after watching the first task at the Tri-Wizard Tournament, during his fourth year).

Then there was Fred and George. Popular in school, and now the successful owners of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, a money-spinning enterprise if ever there was one, in their hands. No, Ron had no reason to be jealous of Harry — he already had plenty of reasons just within his own family!

He'd come with Harry, Hermione and his sister Ginny, here to this magical Academy in America, mostly to get away from that — to be with his friends and do something different with his life than his older brothers had. This kind of magic — American magic — also seemed to grate on his mother, and while he had no desire to hurt her, it brought a smile to his lips sometimes, thinking of her wringing her hands anxiously as they left for the Academy. Even so, he recalled with a frown, he was in last place amongst the four for learning new magic. Oh, he had some pretty cool new spells memorized, but he could only cast the simplest of them wandlessly. Harry was taking to this magic like a fish to water, as was Hermione. Even Ginny could cast her Bat-Bogey Hex without a wand now, as their roommate Dalton had found out last night, when he began to annoy her in the cafeteria during dinner. It had been pretty funny watching him screaming in panic as the bogeys emerged and flapped around him, slapping him in the face and shoulders.

Ron came upon a small alcove in the Library. There was a table covered with books, and one boy sitting at the table, reading. The boy, with black hair and glasses, looked up, and Ron thought he'd found Harry — until he recognized the kid. It was one of the first-years, but not the one Harry was friendly with — that Ricky something-or-other; no, this kid was another bookworm — Ron saw him going in and out of the Library all the time. Was he one of the gaggle of boys who kept following Harry around, trying to be friends with him? Ron couldn't remember. But it couldn't hurt to see if he knew what had become of Harry.

"Hey, Jon Clark!" Ron said. "Have you seen Harry lately?"

Twelve-year old Clark Kent looked at Ron for several moments. He had been reading through the book in front of him at super-speed, and had slowed to normal just as Ron poked his head in the alcove. "Um, n-no," he said, timidly, staying within his normal Jon Clark persona. When he'd really been twelve years old Clark had been more gregarious and outgoing, but he would only be here another month or so, until he'd finished reading the books in the Library. It was best, he thought, if he kept to himself and quietly disappeared when he finished his studies.

"Damn," Ron muttered to himself. He looked at Clark again. "When's the last time you saw him? Yesterday? The day before?"

The last time Clark had seen Harry, they'd talked for several hours about a great number of things, things Harry had seemed eager to discuss with him. Clark wasn't sure how Ron would react to him and Harry spending time together, especially since Harry had referred to Ron as his "best mate." But, Ron had seen them talking in the corridors every so often, so he just said, "It's been a few days."

Ron sensed some hesitance in Clark's reply. Did he know something he wasn't telling? A horrible thought occurred to him. "Hey," he said, his voice going hard. "Do you know anything about Harry and — Ginny Weasley?"

Clark stared at him a moment. Ron's sister? He knew Harry wasn't interested in her — was that what Ron wanted to hear? Brothers were often protective of their younger sisters. "Uh, no," he said, shaking his head. "I don't think he's interested in her, if that's what you're asking."

Oddly, Ron seemed to take offense at this. "What do _you_ know about it, kid?" he snapped. "Ginny's a great person!"

"I know," Clark said. Harry had talked about her as well.

"Whaddaya mean, you _know_?" Ron asked, suspiciously.

"I _mean_," Clark amended, hastily. "I mean, everybody says so."

"And you're _sure_ there's nothing going on between them, as far as you know?" Ron pressed.

"Y-yes," Clark agreed.

"How can you be so sure?" Ron challenged him, stepping up to the table and looming over Clark threateningly. "How do you know he's not after Ginny?"

"He — he told me he liked Clea," Clark said, hoping that this would prevent Ron from grabbing or hitting him. He didn't want to hurt Ron, even accidentally.

Ron looked confused for a moment. "Clea? I don't know any girls in school here named Clea —"

"She's that blonde substitute teacher," Clark offered. Ron looked nonplussed for a moment, then grinned broadly.

"Harry's got a crush on a _teacher_?" he said, almost beaming with joy. It still didn't explain where he was, but the idea that even Harry could have some loony, impractical desires made Ron feel better. He smiled at Clark. "Well, if you see him, tell him I'm looking for him, okay?"

"O-okay," Clark nodded, and Ron walked away, whistling happily. Clark leaned back in his chair, smiling softly at the priorities of youth. He resumed reading at super-speed. Only forty-seven more books to go before he was finished for the night.

=ooo=

Harry leapt high in the air, evading the blast of magic force that destroyed the spot he'd been standing on, and threw a bolt of magic lightning at his opponent. She deflected it with a casual gesture and riposted with another force blast, one which Harry, still in midair, had to twist awkwardly to avoid. He teleported, hoping to come down to one side of her and attack again, but she anticipated the move and sent binding rings that immobilized him. In the moment it took Harry to vanish the rings, Clea had stepped up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "You're out!" she said, her face flushed with triumph.

"Damn!" Harry sighed in mixed resignation and frustration. "That was the longest fight we've had so far, at least."

"Yes," Clea agreed, looking around their training area. "It was." The room looked like it had just been through a war — which was exactly what Harry was being prepared for. "But that's going to be no time at all when Dormammu shows up, I'm afraid. He's not going to give you rest breaks and best out of three tries to beat him."

"I know it," Harry said, irritably. Ever since he'd been brought to the Dark Dimension, what seemed to him like six months ago, he'd heard about nothing but Clea's uncle, the powerful being who once ruled this dimension. Details had remained sketchy on how Clea came to rule it, but the people here seemed to prefer her over him, from what little Harry had picked here and there from Clea's minions.

For the most part, Harry had spent his time training in magic — powerful magic, different from both the British and American systems. Magic was plentiful in the Dark Dimension; one could almost feel the very air pulsing with it. Harry's already considerable magical ability, augmented by his Kryptonian powers, had increased even more the longer he stayed in the Dark Dimension's environment.

Not that he wanted to, mind you.

"After I help you stop him, you're going to send me back home, right?" Harry asked once again. Clea gave him a look of disappointment.

"Yes, I keep telling you, _yes_," she said, annoyed. "Why must you keep bringing that up?"

"Because nothing's _happening_ with this Dormammu bloke," Harry said, exasperated. "I thought you said he was going to attack soon!"

"My uncle is quite shrewd," Clea told him. "I'm sure he knows I have you here, helping me. He is likely evaluating his best means of attacking us and neutralizing the advantage having you here gives me."

"Great," Harry said, sarcastically. "So what if he decides _not_ to attack, because I'm here?"

"Oh, he'll attack," Clea assured him. "He wants the Dark Dimension back more than anything. It's a point of personal pride with him."

"Just _how_ did you gain control of this place from him?" Harry asked, once again curious to know.

Clea waved away the question. "It's too long to go into, and I'm bored with talking for now — we need to practice more." She assumed an attack position.

Harry didn't move. "Well, I'm bored with fighting," he said, crossing his arms and looking stubborn.

Clea looked amused. "You mean you're bored with losing!" In fact, she giggled as she said this. "Come on, Harry, you need to practice if you're going to get any better!"

But Harry had just noticed something. "What's that you're wearing?" he asked, pointing to a golden pendant hanging from Clea's neck, resting between her firm, full breasts. (Harry had noticed those as well, but as he'd been kidnapped by Clea he was not inclined to otherwise react to them.)

"This?" Clea touched the pendant. "Just a gift from Stephen, back when we were together."

"I've never seen you wear it before," Harry recalled.

Clea shrugged. "Time heals all wounds, I suppose — I recently decided to start wearing it again." Her manner turned businesslike. "Anyway, it's not relevant to what you and I are doing, Harry. Now, are you going to train with me or would you prefer to go back to your room?"

Since there was absolutely nothing of interest in his room, and since after Clea tired of training she usually allowed him time in the palace libraries, Harry shrugged and assumed a position of defense. Eventually, he hoped, he would come up with a way out of this place.

=ooo=

Hermione wasn't in the Library (Ron had already searched through most of it by the time he found Clark), but he eventually found her in her dorm room. As usual for a Saturday evening, she was there alone, studying. Ron shook his head slightly, bemused by her intensity. He had worried for a while that she had infected Harry with some kind of learning sickness, what with all the time Harry had been spending in the Library — it was good to know he had some normal interests, even if it was to sneak out and snog a teacher!

"Psst!" Ron hissed, from the doorway. She looked up from her book. "D'you want to hear something interesting?"

"What?" she asked, looking mildly interested. Ron motioned for her to come to the door, but she stayed at her study desk, an impatient look on her face.

"You can come in, Ron," she told him, looking back to her book. "This isn't Hogwarts — there's no restrictions on boys being in girls dorms."

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, stepping into the room and looking around. It was a two-bed dorm room; Hermione's side was very tidy and clean, while the other girl's bed was somewhat rumpled and had a few odd blouses and shoes lying about. There was a haphazard pile of books on the other girl's desk as well, while Hermione's was clear except for a pen holder and a tablet for notes.

"What's the news?" Hermione asked suddenly, making Ron start.

He recovered and grinned at her. "Who do you think Harry likes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Did he tell you?"

"No," Ron admitted. "But I talked to that first year, Jon Clark —"

"You mean sixth grader, Ron," Hermione reminded him.

"Whatever. I saw him in the Library a while ago, and that's where Harry was supposed to be last night, working on some project."

"What project was that?" Hermione looked anxious for a moment. "I don't remember any teacher assigning projects lately!"

"That's the point," Ron said, smugly. "He didn't _have_ a project, he was going on a date and he didn't want anyone to know!"

"And _you_ know this, how?" Hermione asked, still not convinced.

"Well, it only makes sense, doesn't it?" Ron replied, slightly exasperated by her attitude. "I still can't find him — he's been gone since last night!"

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm, I wondered why I hadn't seen him yet today. Ginny and I were talking this morning at breakfast —"

"About what?" Ron asked.

"Oh —" Hermione appeared flustered for a moment. "Just girl stuff. So, who does Harry like?" she asked, quickly.

"You're never going to believe it," Ron said, in a teasing manner.

"Just tell me," she said, in a flat tone that Ron knew meant she was losing patience.

"It's that substitute teacher, Clea," he said, but his triumphant grin slowly disappeared at the look on her face upon hearing this.

"You're joking," she said, disbelievingly.

"No," he shook his head. "That kid Clark told me he liked her."

Hermione was shaking her head disbelievingly. "Oh dear, I _warned_ him about her! I didn't think he was _that_ interested in her!"

"What's wrong with her?" Ron asked, a bit indignant. "She's a bit old for him, but six or seven years isn't that big a deal, is it?"

"Ron, you don't get it," Hermione told him. "There are rumors about her — dark rumors."

"What do you mean?"

"For one thing, she's not twenty-two or twenty-three, like she appears to be, but more like a thousand years old."

Now Ron looked at her disbelievingly. "Well, she's aging well, if that's true," he finally said, jokingly. "But even something like the Philosopher's Stone couldn't keep people young forever, could it — you can make the elixir that keeps you alive forever, but you'd still get older, right?"

"Right," Hermione agreed. "You'd need much more powerful magic to keep you eternally young. But that's part of the rumors as well. Clea is supposed to be from an entirely different universe, altogether, one where they have much more powerful magic."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Harry can sure pick 'em!"

"It's not funny, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "If you're right, and Harry was meeting Clea yesterday night, then she may have done something with him."

"Well, if she's so bloody powerful," Ron wondered. "What would she want with Harry?"

"Did you forget what happened with Harry's magic recently?" Hermione pointed out. "He said it increased somehow, so that he could do a lot of things normal wizards can't, like fly."

"Oh yeah," Ron remembered. "D'you think that's why Clea was interested in him, then?"

"Well, I don't know why else," Hermione answered. "Well, you know what I mean," she added, realizing how that sounded.

"What's up?" another voice asked, from the hallway outside Hermione's dorm, and they both turned to see Ginny standing there.

"I found out who Harry likes!" Ron said immediately.

"Ron, wait —" Hermione began, but Ginny cut over her.

"You did, huh? So who is it?"

"That substitute teacher, Clea."

Ginny didn't react for several seconds. "Well," she said at last, slowly. "That's interesting. How'd you come up with this?"

"Jon Clark told me earlier tonight," Ron said, quite oblivious to Ginny's reaction to the news. "Isn't that bloody wild? Who'd have thought Harry would go for her? Hermione's been telling me some rumors about this Clea person, but they seem mental — wait, what?" Ron stopped as Ginny suddenly turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor. "What's up with her?" he asked Hermione.

"Ron," Hermione said, quietly. "I tried to stop you earlier. Ginny likes Harry, too."

"_What_?" Ron gasped, flabbergasted by this revelation. "You're joking!"

"No, I'm _not_," she responded, beginning to sound angry. "She thought perhaps the reason he wanted her to come to the Academy with us was so they could get to know each other better. "

Ron was still processing the idea. "My sister, and Harry Potter?" He shook his head. That just seemed so _wrong_, somehow. "I dunno about that…"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione looked even more miffed by his comment. "It's not up to you, is it? It's up to them!"

"Harry's never said a word about liking Ginny," Ron pointed out.

"Harry's never said a word about liking _anybody_," Hermione retorted. ""He liked Cho Chang, but you had to practically pull his teeth out to get him to talk about her, much less _to_ her!"

"He's talked about Luna Lovegood," Ron remembered.

"Really? What did he say about her?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Well —" Ron searched his memories for things Harry had said about Luna. "He thought she was interesting."

"Because he's too polite to call her 'Loony,' like most people at Hogwarts did," Hermione answered. "Even _you've_ called her that."

"Well, she _is_ an odd duck," Ron answered, defensively. "Anyway," he said, going back to Ginny. "How long has she liked him?"

"Since the day she met him, in the kitchen at the Burrow," Hermione answered.

"Well, she hardly met him _then_," Ron laughed. "She took one look at him and ran back upstairs. And for a long time she hardly said a word when he was around — normally she'd talk nonstop… oh…hell," Ron finally saw what Hermione was getting at. "Wow, I never saw that."

Well, it doesn't matter much now," Hermione said, shrugging. "Harry's got a girlfriend, that's the end of it."

Ron looked skeptical. "You don't know my sister — if she really wants something, she can be relentless."

"Oh, I know she can," Hermione agreed. "But she might want Harry to be onboard with the idea as well."

"Maybe, maybe not," Ron said. That was what scared him. When his sister got in her head she wanted something, she usually got it. He'd have to warn Harry to be on guard against whatever Ginny might try to get him to like her.

=ooo=

Sunday arrived, clear but cold in the Montana wilderness where the Academy was secreted. Clark, having had lunch with Ricky and several other sixth graders, felt like having some "alone" time rather than reading in the Library. He put on a jacket (for appearances' sake) and went for a walk, ostensibly along one of the paths surrounding the Academy that were made for that purpose.

As soon as he was alone, however, Clark disappeared into the brush, running faster and faster until he was almost a blur speeding through the woodlands. A short time later he slowed and came to a halt at the familiar bluff overlooking the canyon near the edge of the Academy grounds. He had come to regard this place as his "Bluff of Solitude" — a meager substitute for his Fortress, but while he was incognito as a twelve year old it would suffice.

Clark sat down cross-legged on the grass overlooking the canyon, the one with the train trestle that he and Harry slowed the runaway train that was threatening to derail over it, several weeks ago. That had been the last time he'd really talked with Harry — the environment at the school didn't encourage twelve and sixteen-years to interact much, whatever Professor Potter thought of the merits of doing so.

He sighed; he had been at the Academy a little over two months now, attending a few classes and interacting with his age peers, including Ricky Dolan, Lana's son, but mostly, Clark had spent his time in the Academy Library, reading. He'd gone through thousands of books of magic in that time, his super-brain correlating all the different spells and wards that wizards used, analyzing them from a mostly defensive perspective. He would never use magic offensively; Clark had already decided that he was no wizard — he was a man of _action_. Knowing and having the ability to use magic to defend himself from it would be useful, but he could easily see how such power could make him susceptible to corrupting influences. He had already seen his dark side, once, under the influence of artificial kryptonite, and that persona was not someone he wanted to set loose again in the world. He would have to discipline himself to use magic only when it was necessary, and only in self-defense against magic itself.

Would Harry, with both magical and super-powers as well, powers that nearly matched his own, realize these things too, Clark wondered. Harry seemed remarkably well-adjusted for a boy who'd been through the things he'd experienced — the murder of his parents, living in near-slavery with unsympathetic relatives for a decade before learning of his true origin, and the constant danger that his reappearance in the Wizarding world put him in with the Dark wizard, Voldemort and his minions. Clark considered it a mark of Harry's integrity and self-control that he hadn't immediately sought out Voldemort, to kill him with his enhanced powers.

A gust of cold wind blew in from across the canyon, ruffling Clark's hair, and he shook his head absently, leaving it somewhat disheveled. A normal boy's teeth would be chattering right now — the wind chill was below freezing. But for Clark, whose body was powered and warmed by the sun, it was just a pleasant breeze.

Where _had_ Harry gotten off to? Clark knew he had flown to Smallville at least once, looking for him, though he hadn't known then that Clark was attending the Academy alongside him, disguised as a twelve-year old. He'd found out when Clark had approached him, just before the train incident. They had talked for hours afterward, but Harry was engrossed in his own studies of magic, and they rarely saw each other since then. Now Harry had been gone since Friday afternoon, two days.

"Harry?" a voice behind him spoke unexpectedly. Clark turned; standing behind him was a blonde, teenaged girl, dressed in a light jacket, knitted blouse and a skirt that barely reached to her knees. For a moment Clark wondered that she wasn't freezing, but students at the Academy, especially those who'd been there for a few Montana winters, knew spells that gave them protection from harsh weather conditions.

"Oh," the girl said, taking a step back when she saw his face. "I thought you were someone else." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Clark said. Over the past few months he had memorized the faces of every student he'd seen at the Academy — in the hallways, in his sixth grade classes, in the cafeteria — but hers was unfamiliar to him. He jumped to his feet (a bit awkwardly, maintaining his persona of a gangly twelve-year old) and stood facing her. "Um, my name's Jon Clark," he said, wanting to find out more about her. "What's yours?"

"I'm Linda," the girl said. She was looking around. "What are you doing out here?"

_I might ask you the same thin_g, Clark thought. Aloud he said, "Oh, I just come here to admire the view." He pointed to the canyon below them. "It's my little getaway from the Academy."

The girl didn't react. "Well," she said, after several seconds of silence. "That's nice, but I should be going. I was looking for someone."

"Yes, you called me 'Harry' when you first saw me," Clark spoke up quickly. Could she possibly be referring to Harry Potter? Perhaps this was the girl Harry liked? But no, he remembered seeing Clea at the start of school, when she spoke at the first assembly, and this wasn't her. "Are you looking for Harry Potter?"

For the first time the girl looked interested in what Clark was saying. "Do you know him?" she asked, looking anxious.

"Yes," Clark nodded. "We've both been attending the Academy, I'm surprised you haven't —" Clark stopped, noting the look of anxiousness and discomfort on her face. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," Linda said. She shook her head, as if in a daze. "I feel — not well. Something about this place…"

Clark suddenly realized — _she wasn't from the school_! That was why he hadn't recognized her! But how could a normal human have wandered into the Academy's "safe zone?" And why wasn't she freezing from the cold? "How did you get here?" he asked her.

"I — I —" she shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She looked around, trying to decide what to do. "I have to go," she abruptly announced, and turned and bolted into the woods, moving with the speed and grace of a deer.

"Wait!" Clark, startled for a moment by her speed, took off after her, running flat out. Whatever she was, she was no normal human, that was for sure! But she was still being affected by the magical wards of the safe zone, and she was running _toward_ the Academy, not away from it — the wards were bound to make her even more confused and frightened the closer she got to the school. She was running as fast as he was, but she didn't know her way through the woods, and was twisting and turning blindly, without any real direction in mind. Clark, who'd spend enough time in these woods to know them quite well by now, anticipated her twists and turns, steadily closing the gap between them, until after running nearly two miles in less than thirty seconds, he caught up to her in a small clearing.

She tried to twist away from him at the last moment, but Clark put on a surge of speed, tackling her, and they both slid several yards across the ground; Clark rolled his body beneath her, keeping her from being dragged through the dirt, until they came to a halt. He rolled to his feet, lifting her off the ground and onto her feet as well. "Are you all right?" he asked, holding her by the shoulders.

"Get _off_ me!" she shouted, pushing him hard in the chest. Clark flew forty feet across the clearing, slamming into a tree, which split open on impact. He slid to the ground, unhurt but amazed at what had just happened. _Definitely not human_, he thought, looking at her with renewed respect. That shove would have broken a normal human, but she didn't seem to realize at first that she'd shoved him that hard.

Linda was staring at him, horrified by what she'd just done, and looked equally amazed as he picked himself up off the ground. "Oh, dear Rao," she said, nearly hysterical. "I might have killed you!" She suddenly frowned. "In fact, that _should_ have killed you, if you were a normal human. What _are_ you?"

"I might ask that same question of you," Clark said, calmly, dusting himself off as he walked toward her. Had she just called upon Rao, the Kryptonian sun-god? "You seem much stronger than a normal human."

"And you're much more durable than one," Linda retorted. "In my case, it's because I'm _not_ human — I'm from the planet Krypton, like the person they call Superman. Do you know of him?"

Clark smiled. "I've heard of him, yes. But why are you looking for Harry Potter?"

"I am hoping that he can help me find Clark Kent," Linda answered. "I met him once, on the Kent farm in Kansas. Martha Kent told me that Harry and Clark know one another."

"I think they do," Clark nodded. This was interesting — she knew his mother! How would a Kryptonian have gotten to Earth after all this time, when Krypton was destroyed years ago? "But why do you want to find Clark Kent?"

"That's my business," she replied, curtly. "If you can't help me, I'll be on my way." She crouched, looking as if she were about to leap into the sky.

"Wait," Clark said again. She stopped, looking back at him, and he asked, "Can you fly?"

She looked at him strangely, but nodded. "Yes, I have that ability. All Kryptonians do when on Earth. Why?"

All_ Kryptonians_? Clark thought. So far, other than himself, he only knew of three other Kryptonians who'd survived the destruction of Krypton, and they were no longer super-powered. But he said only, "Will you carry me away from this place? I want to show you something."

"What?" Linda asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Just fly us that way," Clark said, pointing back toward the canyon. "You'll see before we go very far."

Linda shrugged and picked him up, then soared into the air, flying back over the canyon and out of the confines of the Academy's safe zone. "How much further do I have to go," she complained. "You said something would happen — yipe!"

Clark had begun to glow in her arm, and then _grow_. As a twelve-year old, he'd been just a bit shorter than her, but now his features blurred and matured, and his school clothes and jacket morphed as he grew, turning red and blue, until Linda hastily let him go as he hovered before her under his own power — Superman, the Man of Steel!

"Oh my Rao," Linda breathed. "You were Superman all along?" She looked furious. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"I didn't know who you were," Superman answered. "And I still don't. Now you tell me — why do you want to find Clark Kent?"

Linda put her hands on her hips. "Well, _you_ ought to know! You _are_ Clark Kent, aren't you?"

"What makes you say that?" Superman answered, not wanting to give anything away.

"I've known about it for years," she answered. "My real name is Kara Zor-El, and I'm your cousin."


	15. My Kryptonian Cousin

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Fifteen  
****My Kryptonian Cousin**

_Updated 18 February 2011_

"My _cousin_?" Clark stared at Kara in surprise. "I never knew I had relatives on Krypton other than my father and mother!"

"I'd bet your father never said a thing about Zor-El in all the information he sent with you to Earth," Kara replied, matter-of-factly. "They weren't exactly close."

"How do you know —" Clark stopped, looking around, then pointed to a nearby mountain top a few miles away. "Let's get out of the air," he said. "I have some questions for you."

"I may have some for you as well, cousin," Kara replied, and the two of them flew to and landed near the summit of the mountain. It was calmer near the top, as the mountain was providing some protection from the winds that were blowing.

"Now —" Kara began, but Clark put up a hand, stopping her from continuing. He was scanning the skies above them. She looked up as well, curious as to what he was doing.

"Where we met earlier," Clark explained. "There are protective spells that kept surveillance satellites from recording images of the area we were in. But we're no longer in the 'safe zone' of the Academy. There are also spells that keep non-magical people from entering it. That's why you felt strange — the wards were affecting you."

"I wondered what was going on," Kara remarked. "I never felt anything like that before. But these surveillance satellites — they can't be as powerful as Kryptonian surveillance probes, can they?"

"It's best not to take any chances," Clark said. He inhaled slowly, drawing a large amount of air into his lungs, then began blowing it upwards into the sky. As Kara watched, intrigued, the sky began to cloud over. Within a minute, Clark had created a layer of clouds above them.

"There," he said, looking back at Kara. "Now we can talk without anyone observing us."

"Interesting," Kara said. "I would not have thought of using my breath to cool the air and create cloud cover." She pointed at the clouds above them. "But this wouldn't do any good if you were dealing with Kryptonian probes."

"Kryptonian probes?" Clark asked, curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's how we've been observing you here on Earth," Kara replied. "Krypton collected a vast amount of information from other galaxies and planets across the universe, spanning something like —"

"Like the 28 known galaxies," Clark nodded. "I remember Jor-El speaking of them. But he said I would pass through several of them on my way to Earth, even though Krypton was not that far from here, only about 36 light-years."

Kara nodded. "Krypton was a pretty xenophobic society, from what my father told me. Jor-El deliberately kept the location of Krypton from you, probably so you wouldn't try to return. But they also wanted to keep track of what all the planets with sentient life on them were doing, so they sent out probes to observe them. The probes are microscopic and can permeate the atmosphere of a planet, like Earth, and send back transmissions to Krypton almost instantaneously. That's how we knew where you had landed on Earth, near the Kent farm, and how Jonathan and Martha Kent found you."

"How did _you_ come to be on Earth?" Clark asked.

"Well, that's a long story," Kara demurred.

"I've got time," Clark smiled.

Kara shrugged, as if it were no big deal either way, and said, "I doubt your father mentioned this, either, but Krypton was undergoing a lot of changes just before it exploded, and my father told me that contributed to tensions that kept the ruling bodies from doing anything about planet's instability."

"You mean changes other than to the planet itself?" Clark asked, for clarification.

"Yeah," Kara nodded. "A lot of political interplay between the Council of Elders, the ruling body of Krypton, and the Science Council, which it relied upon for information-gathering and analysis. A member of the Science Council, Zod, had applied for election to the Council of Elders, but the Council voted him down. He created a separate faction, recruited a few others to his cause, and tried to usurp the Elders' power."

"I know some of that," Clark said, grimly. "He was stopped by my father, Jor-El, and swore vengeance against him."

"Right," Kara said. "Fortunately, they were sentenced to the Phantom Zone and never heard of again."

"Not quite," Clark told her. "They got free, somehow, and ended up here on Earth, several years ago. I had to fight all three of them — Zod, Ursa and Non — to protect the Earth."

"_Really_?" Kara breathed. "You beat three super-powered Kryptonians and won, all by yourself? That's pretty impressive!"

"Not so impressive," Clark disagreed. "I used a device Jor-El sent with me to Earth, that generated radiation that permanently removed their super-powers, when they thought they were using it against me. They are all locked up in separate maximum security prisons now."

"Still…" Kara didn't finish her thought, however, but walked restlessly around the ledge they were standing on. "Anyway, back to the story. Both our fathers knew well before its end that Krypton was doomed — they were both members of the Science Council and saw all the data. But while your father worked closely with the Council of Elders — Zor-El said he was trying to convince them of the seriousness of the situation — my father decided on a more indirect approach."

"Which was?" Clark prompted.

"He had the Science Council allocate resources for the construction of space arcology — a large station that would go into permanent orbit around Krypton, and be used to observe our sun and surrounding stars."

"But what about the probes you spoke of, earlier?" Clark asked. "Wouldn't they do a much better job, and be right where the measurements were being taken?"

"I thought that, too," Kara agreed. "But father said that certain measurements are better taken from a fixed location, and they also needed to know the distance and relative speeds of these other star systems. His request was granted, and Arco City was created.

"Is that how you escaped Krypton's destruction?" Clark asked. "On Arco City?"

"Yes," Kara said. "It was completed just days before Zod made his attempt to take over the Council. Father did not get all the resources he wanted for it allocated, though — he'd intended it to support up to a thousand families, but the Science Council only allocated enough to build an arcology that would support 250 families."

"I'm surprised Jor-El didn't use his influence to get more resources," Clark remarked.

But Kara shook her head. "I don't think either of them wanted to do that. Like I said, they weren't very close, your father and mine. But I know that neither of them had any intention of letting the other die when Krypton was destroyed. It just that your father didn't want it to look like he was showing any favoritism to his brother. That probably worked in their favor when the Elders tried to kill Jor-El."

Clark looked surprised once again. "Why did they try to kill him?"

"For wanting to leave Krypton," Kara answered. "I told you they were all a bunch of xenophobes. Father said they were afraid if any of us left Krypton, that other star-faring races might learn of our location and attempt to invade us. Not that we weren't perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves — Krypton had formidable weapons at its disposal. I know that some factions, like Zod, were looking forward to Jor-El leaving Krypton, since it would weaken the Councils and shore up his own movement. Zod _wanted_ other races to attack us, so he could prove our superiority to everyone. Eventually he might have struck out from Krypton with his own offensive, taking over other planets and establishing a Kryptonian empire across the galaxy. That was why he self-declared himself a general. He imagined that one day he would be 'Emperor Zod,' ruling the galaxy from Krypton."

Clark was shaking his head. "By the time he reached Earth, Zod was consumed with hatred and a desire for revenge against Jor-El. When he learned that his son was here, he took over the United States government and demanded that I kneel before him."

"But you didn't, did you?" Kara looked at him curiously. "Your father never would have."

"It was a near thing," Clark admitted. "Zod was being helped by Lex Luthor, a criminal mastermind with a real estate fixation. He agreed to help Zod kill me in return for possession of Australia. In fact, I counted on him betraying me when I told him of my plan to use the nullification chamber on Zod. They forced me into the chamber, but I had already reprogrammed it to affect every Kryptonian _outside_ the chamber instead of inside. So the effect removed Zod, Ursa and Non's powers permanently."

"They were all aberrant personality types," Kara said. "Zod craved power and dominance — he went round the twist when the Elders rejected him for the Council. Ursa was a misanthrope; she hated all men except for Zod, even her husband, Non."

"Non was her _husband_?" Clark was surprised once again. "I never knew that."

"Hardly anyone did, even on Krypton," Kara told him. "Non was a brilliant scientist, a member of the Science Council working on genetic research, when he somehow botched an experiment that made him twice as strong as a normal Kryptonian, but took away his higher reasoning ability and speech. The only higher function he was left with was, unfortunately, his loyalty to Zod. The rumor was that Zod and Ursa urged him to try the experiment on himself — Zod wanted someone with muscle to protect him, and Ursa — well, Ursa may have known of the dangers the experiment presented, but she must have thought that either way it went, she'd win."

"How does all this tie in with your escape from Krypton?" Clark asked.

"I'm getting to it, don't be so impatient!" Kara complained. "You're like my father, always making me get to the point…" Kara looked away, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," Clark said. "Do you know what happened to your parents and the others on Arco City?"

"No," Kara said softly, after a moment. "We were lucky, though — the Elders sent a robotic Assassin after Jor-El, but too late to stop him from sending you into space, as Krypton exploded; Zor-El and about 100 families were on the Arco by then, and he was able to move it away from the planet in time to avoid the shockwaves from its destruction. As far as we know, only you and those on Arco City were the only survivors."

"And Zod, Ursa and Non, in the Phantom Zone," Clark added.

"Yes, but we didn't think about them — they were convicted criminals, and it was believed that the Phantom Zone was inescapable," Kara explained. "Do you know how they managed to get free?"

"No," Clark answered. "Zod never bothered to tell me, and I was too concerned with trying to stop them to wonder how they got free."

"Well, anyway," Kara continued, "we escaped the explosion of Krypton, but unlike your ship, the Arco didn't have a stardrive, so the best we could do was to put ourselves in orbit around Rao, Krypton's sun, and try to survive until we could figure out what to do next. There was another planet in orbit around our sun, but it was much farther away from Rao than Krypton was; it would be decades before it would approach close enough for us to attempt an orbital insertion.

"In the meantime, my father worked to keep us all alive, as well as coming up with some inventions of his own. He set up a monitoring system of Earth, so we would know whether you had made it there or not. We watched as you landed in Kansas and were discovered by the Kents, who brought you home and raised you as their son. For the next thirteen years I watched as you grew up, isolated from all your friends at school because of your powers, for fear they would discover them and take you away from your parents." Kara looked at her older cousin, almost shaking with emotion. "I felt so sorry for you, Kal! Having to live all those years on a primitive, backwards planet — I don't know how you could stand it."

"It was all I knew," Clark said, quietly. "And I had parents who loved me and took care of me. I have to confess — I was a lot more reckless with using my powers than I should have been. My dad forbid me to play football on the Smallville High team — he was afraid I'd forget myself and run over everyone in my zeal to score a touchdown." Clark laughed. "He was probably right, too — I loved to run. I used to chase trains coming through the county, I'd always try to beat them to a railroad crossing and run in front of them. I usually won, too."

"Usually?" Kara asked, smiling.

"Well," Clark admitted, after a moment. "One did clip me once, when I cut things a little too close. I got thrown about a hundred feet and landed in a wheat field. The engineer was sure he'd killed someone and made an emergency stop to check it out. Fortunately, I wasn't really hurt, so I got up and hightailed it out of there before anyone found me. They never did figure out what put the huge dent in the front of the train."

Kara was laughing. "Oh my Rao, that's so _funny_!" But she sobered quickly. "Well, it turned out there was a problem. The debris from Krypton's explosion eventually caught up with us, and we were left floating in an asteroid field of radioactive rocks."

"Kryptonite," Clark said, with a grim nod. "Did it affect you?"

"Not directly," Kara said. "In fact, at first Father thought we might be able to use the radioactivity of the rocks to power our energy generators, but the radiation interfered with the proper functioning of our equipment. We also discovered that the radiation was interacting with the material of the Arco itself, weakening the crystalline bonds, so that if we stayed within the asteroid field for too long the Arco would break apart. We had to use extra energy to escape the asteroid swarm."

"You were still in orbit around Krypton's sun, weren't you?" Clark recalled. "Couldn't you collect energy from the sun itself?"

"Not very efficiently," Kara answered. "We weren't big enough to intercept a lot of solar radiation, and much of that, little as it was, was used to keep the station habitable. Though Rao was a large star, its red radiation put out little actual energy — nowhere near the amount put out by the Earth's sun, for example."

"And that difference is what makes us super-powered," Clark noted. "Apparently my father anticipated that."

"Yes," Kara agreed. "Both our fathers were well-aware that Earth's yellow sun would provide an energizing effect to our Kryptonian physiology. In fact, there's a theory that Kryptonians themselves may have originated on Earth."

"Really?" Clark said, sounding intrigued. "I don't think Jor-El ever mentioned that in the training I did with him at my Fortress, years ago."

"Well, it's not a very popular theory on Krypton, obviously," Kara added, plaintively. "The Science Council's _official_ explanation for the slight difference between Kryptonian DNA and the rest of the flora and fauna of Krypton is that two similar lines of life developed early in Krypton's history, something like two billion years ago, and developed in parallel in separate parts of the planet, only coming in contact about 5 million years ago. One line had developed diverse types of plant and animal life, while the second line evolved in a more narrow context, becoming humanlike only about 2 million years ago. Ironically, the alternate theory suggests that our ancestors were brought here, probably from Earth, about two million years ago by another, unknown space-faring race."

"I can see why the Science Council would not like that theory," Clark remarked, matter-of-factly.

"Ohhh, no — you're right," Kara agreed with a decisive shake of her head. "Those xenophobes _hate_ the idea that we might not have originated on Krypton. But what else can really explain the differences in our DNA compared to every other lifeform on Krypton? The 'two lines of evolution' explanation doesn't seem realistic, especially since one line became quite diverse but the other developed in pretty much a straight line into human form. That's pretty unbelievable."

"So," Clark spoke slowly. "If the Earth-origin theory is true, we might be genetically compatible with humans, correct?"

"Probably," Kara shrugged. "Or, at least as compatible as two million years of divergent evolution would allow for. Why?" she grinned. "Are you dating an Earth woman? Say — Lana Lang?" she inquired, coquettishly.

Clark looked nonplussed. "How do you know about Lana?"

"Come on, Clark!" Kara laughed. "You were hanging out with her _all the time_ when you were kids! Remember the Kryptonian probes? Mother, Father and I all watched you grow up for thirteen years."

"What happened after thirteen years?" Clark asked.

Kara suddenly shuddered, and took a deep breath. Her eyes were glistening as she looked at Clark. "The end," she whispered. "Everything fell apart." She turned away, covering her face in her hands, and Clark put his hands on her shoulders. She did not flinch away this time. "I'm sorry," she said, after a moment. "I just can't believe —"

"You don't have to say it," Clark told her. "I understand."

She turned around to face him. "No, I can do this," she said, firmly. She took another breath and began. "The Arco had been slowly deteriorating over those past thirteen years — the damage from the kryptonite asteroid swarm had been too severe for the automatic repair systems to fully recover. Father had hoped the Arco would hold out for another decade, until we were close enough to the other planet to make it into orbit, but it couldn't hold out.

"He'd been working on other projects as well, though. One was a way to use the Phantom Zone as a transport device — a way to send a person through space-time to a distant location. He said it would be used as a contingency, to send everyone to safety if we couldn't make planetfall before the Arco disintegrated.

"But what I _didn't_ know," she went on, "was that most of the Arco's power had been depleted by everyone's efforts to keep it together. They kept that from me," Kara said, with a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Probably because they considered me 'too young to understand,' or some other such rot! Clark, I've got the equivalent of _five_ Earth Ph.D's! I can speak five Earth languages fluently! I don't know why they thought I 'wouldn't understand!'"

"I think that's the way parents are," Clark said, mildly. "They think they're protecting you. My parents kept me from doing a lot of things I wanted to, because they were afraid I would give away my powers. They were probably right, too."

"Anyway," Kara went on, still sounding angry. "Zor-El told me he wanted to conduct a test with me. He put me in an emergency life pod, saying he was going to take some readings with me inside. At that point alarms began going off around the Arco — its destruction was imminent. I begged him to let me out, to let me help with the evacuation, but he didn't listen. He sent the ship through the Phantom Zone, programming it to exit the Zone near Earth, which it did. A tracking device of some kind in the probe took it down over Kansas, where I landed in the same field you crashed in, years before.

"The only thing that surprised me about the trip was the difference in our ages," she added. "I was born about a month before you, and spent about fifteen years on the Arco before my father sent me here. But you're something like twenty years older than me. It must have taken time for the life probe to pass through the Phantom Zone, even though no time passed for me."

"I'm thirty-seven, by the way," Clark said. "Measured in Earth-years, that is."

Kara nodded, but instead of commenting continued her story. "When I landed, the hatch opened and I stepped out. Your mother Martha was there, looking at the craft in amazement. She was even more surprised when I greeted her by name. I told her who I was and how I got there." Kara was silent for a moment. "I guess I was sort of in denial then, too, because I told her my parents would be joining me soon. But I don't — think they — made…" Kara stopped, unable to continue.

Clark nodded and hugged her, and she clung to him with a combination of anguish and relief. "Your mother was very kind to me," Kara sniffed, when she finally looked up at Clark again. "I was not in a good place, mentally, for a while after that. I was rather cold to her sometimes when I was first there, probably because I knew that you still had her, and I had no one."

"You have us both, now," Clark told her firmly. "Don't ever forget that, Kara. You will always be a part of our family now."

Kara managed a smile. "I'm — I'm very glad to hear that, Clark." She stepped back, wiping her eyes.

"Sometime in there you must have met Harry Potter," Clark surmised.

"What? Oh — yeah," Kara nodded. "I'd been at the farm perhaps a week when he showed up — just walked into the back door without even knocking! I was considering knocking him out when he began explaining himself."

Clark chuckled. "I'm glad you didn't," he said. "Harry's been very helpful to me over the past few months, especially considering our 'situation.'"

"What's that?" Kara asked. "Your mother told me you and he were friends, but I could not imagine how you'd come to know someone like him."

Clark smiled. "Why do you say that?"

"Well…" Kara shrugged. "I don't know — he just seems a bit… provincial, compared to someone like you. I mean, I've been reading up on you — Clark Kent, I mean — since I got to Earth and you're pretty well-known. You're in _Who's Who_, and I read some articles on you on the internet at the Smallville Library. He's just some kid who can do magic, right?"

"Martha told you that much, did she?" Clark asked, evenly.

"She said if I wanted to know any more I should ask you when I saw you," Kara replied. "So, I decided it was time to ask you. But I didn't know where to find you — I only knew that Harry went to school somewhere in Montana. So I decided to find him and ask him how to get in contact with you. It's pretty wild that you and ran into each other like we didn't even if we didn't know it at first! What were you even doing at that school, looking like you were ten years old?"

"I was twelve," Clark said, a bit curtly. "And it's a long story."

"Well," Kara smiled. "I've got time."

"Later," Clark promised. "But for now, we should get you back to Kansas. Mom is probably worried sick about you."

"I'm a big girl, Clark," Kara said, folding her arms across her chest. "Your mother knows I can take care of myself."

"But she worries," Clark reminded her. "She'll wonder what's happened to you."

Kara rolled her eyes. "For all she knows I'm down at Pop's Ice Cream Shoppe having some fries and a shake."

"Fries and a shake?" Clark repeated, smiling. "You've gone native pretty fast, little Linda." He gave her a curious look. "How'd you come up with that name, anyway?"

"I didn't," Kara said. "Your mom insisted I needed a more Earth-sounding name. She thought me calling myself 'Kara Zor-El' sounded too unusual."

"She's right," Clark agreed. "and the name 'Zor-El' might tip off certain people as to your relationship to Superman, those who know my father was named Jor-El."

"Oh." Kara looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess you're right. So I guess I'm Linda Lee when I'm out with normal Earth people."

"How'd you pick something like 'Lee' for your last name?" Clark asked.

"Well, it sounded good with 'Linda,'" Kara said. "I took our family name, 'El,' and reversed the letters to make 'Le.' But your mother said it would look more normal if I used two 'e's, so I became Linda Lee."

"Makes sense," Clark nodded. "So, are you ready to head back now?"

"On the condition that you stay with us a while," Kara admonished him. "Your mother really misses you, and I'd like to get to know you better."

"Well," Clark looked indecisive. "I still have studies to complete at the Academy…"

"Oh, come on!" Kara wheedled. "You can miss a few days! It's not like I'm asking you not to go back, ever!"

"Okay, okay," Clark gave in. "It's just that Harry's been gone a couple of days from the school now, too — nobody knows where he went."

"Well, he's bound to turn up eventually, isn't he?" Kara said. "He might even be at the farm right now — I've been flying around Montana for the past two days trying to find him, but I might have missed him."

"Two _days_?" Clark shook his head. "Mom _will_ be worried sick! Okay, I'll stay a day or so, and we can get caught up on what's been happening here over the past twenty years, since you last saw me. Deal?"

"Deal!" Kara agreed, and the two of them leaped into the sky and sped toward Kansas.

=ooo=

Sunday evening descended on London, bringing with it a chilling mist and a sense of foreboding to the citizens of that great city, wizard and Muggle alike. The streets were almost empty just after dark— everyone felt a sense of depression and hopelessness that they did not understand, but only wished to avoid, and being inside where it was safe and warm seemed to help. The Muggles could not know, of course, but the weather was perfect for dementors who were preparing to breed, and the streets were filled with unseen monsters, moving boldly among humans, savoring their fear in anticipation of their breeding activities.

Wizards avoided the streets as well. Unlike Muggles, they could see dementors, and there were too many for a single wizard to consider confronting. Most wizards, like their Muggle counterparts, chose to remain indoors, combating their feelings of hopelessness and fear with the company of friends, or a warm fire and a hot drink.

Along Charing Cross Road, however, a dark-robed figure suddenly appeared soundlessly on the sidewalk between a dilapidated record store and an old book store. His black eyes scanned up and down the street slowly. He turned abruptly and entered the small, grubby-looking shop situated between the two stores, through a door only wizards could see.

The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty despite the repressive conditions outside. Severus Snape noted only one witch, plainly dressed, sipping at a toddy of hot rum. Her eyes passed over him and she smiled momentarily, but went back to her drink, ignoring him thereafter. Snape made his way to the bar where Tom, the barman, was busy wiping out glasses and mugs. He seemed quite engrossed in the activity, until Snape made a throat-clearing noise.

Tom turned, looking surprised. "Well, bless my soul, Professor! I didn't see you there." Which was a lie, Snape knew. Tom could not have failed to notice him step up to the bar; he had been ignoring him for a reason.

Tom made the reason for his lie known by adding, "I don't think you've ever stopped at the bar before, Professor — you usually just go on through to Diagon Alley." He turned to face the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, placing both hands on the bar. "Is there somethin' I ken do for yeh?"

"You have some information for me, I believe?"

"I thought yeh might want to wet yer whistle first, Professor," Tom suggested.

"_Did_ you?" Snape stared at the toothless bartender for several moments. He was about to refuse when he suddenly decided that Tom was probably trying to scrape a little more gold from the night, which from the looks of his current clientele had not gone very well so far. "Some mead, warmed," he said at last.

"Merlin's Best?" Tom asked, reaching for one of the bottles of the brown liquid, one of the most expensive drinks at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Your house brand, if you please," Snape answered, enunciating each word clearly, to be sure Tom understood him. There was no use buying the best mead — he had no intention of drinking anything put in front of him. He dropped a few Sickles on the bar, which Tom quickly exchanged for a mug of steaming mead.

Snape picked up the mug, inhaling the steam coming off the drink, waving the mead beneath his long nose as if savoring its aroma. He brought the mug up to his lips, but before he drank, his eyes flicked to Tom once again. "You have some information for me, I believe?" he repeated.

"Oh. Yeah," Tom said, now sounding a bit nervous. "It said in the _Prophet_ that there'd be a reward for information about Dedalus Diggle."

"For information leading to the _recovery_ of Diggle," Snape corrected.

"Yeah," Tom muttered. "Well, he was here yesterday."

Snape was silent for several moments. "Here. In your bar?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you use the spell the advert in the _Prophet_ said to use if you saw him?" Snape snapped.

"It was too quick," Tom protested. "He was in and out, just like that!" he snapped his fingers.

Snape sighed, almost imperceptibly. "What did he say while he was here?"

"Not a lot," Tom replied. "He said, 'I hear some people are looking for me — be a good lad, Tom, an' give them this the next time you see one of 'em.' An' he hands me this." Tom reached beneath the bar and handed a card to Snape.

Snape stared at the card. It was a business card, with a name and address on it.

**Luthor Enterprises, LC**  
**L. Luthor, _Acquisitions Expert_**

Beneath the name was an address in a run-down neighborhood of London. Snape stared at the card suspiciously, then took out his wand and tapped the card. It was not magical in any way. He looked at Tom. "Diggle gave you this?"

"That he did," Tom nodded emphatically. "I don't understand it, though — what's the idea of using a card to introduce someone, when you ken do it just as well in person?"

"It's a Muggle business practice," Snape said, automatically going into lecture mode. "They use these cards to keep track of people and places they may want to do business with at some point." But why would Diggle leave this for some Order member, unless he wanted one of them to visit the address on the card?

He nodded curtly to Tom. "This information has been helpful."

Tom grinned toothlessly. "Thank'ee! Does that mean I'll be seein' that reward, then?"

"We'll let you know if we find Diggle," Snape said, in a clipped tone, then turned and left the Cauldron.

Once outside, he Disapparated, reappearing a moment later in front of the building whose address was on the card he held. The building was an old apartment complex, shabby and run-down; Snape doubted anyone actually lived there. However, he approached the entrance cautiously and attempted to open the door, only to find it locked. That problem was solved a moment later as he took out his wand and flicked it, once. The door unlocked and opened of its own accord. Snape stepped inside, wand at his side but ready to use.

He was in a small, dirty foyer, with a row of slots for Muggle mail on one wall. Most of the slots had no names on them; the few that did were old and faded, except for one: It proclaimed "L. Luthor" for the slot marked 202, in bright, new lettering.

Snape considered his options. Could this be a trap for him? If a Muggle had actually gained control of a wizard, as it seemed Diggle was being controlled, that was an extraordinary thing, something Snape could not disregard. On the other hand, while Diggle was a capable wizard, he was no match for Snape in a fair fight. Without a wizard backing him up, a Muggle like Luthor (Snape strongly suspected this L. Luthor was indeed a Muggle — no wizard would use a business card to introduce himself!) would be no match for a wizard like Snape. However, Snape himself had taken steps to ensure that he was not taken prisoner somehow. Secreted within his robes was a small object, an empty potion phial, that had a Portkey enchantment laid upon it. Dumbledore had enchanted it for him, to return him to Hogwarts if he should so much as touch it with his bare hand. Snape had also added an enchantment to the phial — if it was subjected to a jolt or sudden stop, it would activate as well. Thus, if he were Stunned or otherwise incapacitated, somehow, and fell over, the fall itself would activate the Portkey even if he were unconscious.

Snape moved cautiously through the hallway to the nearest staircase, casting detection spells as he went. There were no Anti-Apparation Jinxes active in the area, nor wards designed to alert others to his presence. That was interesting, he thought, but perhaps Diggle was not as completely controlled by this Luthor he might have been; otherwise the Muggle might have taken advantage of Diggle's magical abilities to alert them to his presence.

Finally reaching the second floor, Snape moved carefully along the hallway until he reached an old, dirty door with the number 202 on its molding. A flick of his wand and the door slowly swung open. Snape stepped inside, cautiously, and peered about the room.

It was a typical front room for a small apartment, completely bare of furnishings and decorations of any kind. The room stank of age and neglect. Off to one side was a small kitchen area, equally bare. It did not appear that anyone other than Snape himself had entered this apartment for some time. Snape reached into his robes, removing the card Tom had given him and checked the address. Yes, he was at the correct location, and the mail slot had identified the tenant of 202 as L. Luthor. Snape grimaced. He was beginning to wonder if he was being played for a fool, an idea that galled him to no end.

"Ah, you're here," a voice suddenly spoke from an adjoining room, and Snape was instantly alert, his wand pointing toward the source of the voice. "Come in."

Approaching the door, Snape once again flicked his wand, opening it before him, and stepped to the doorway. This room, unlike the one he was standing in, was anything but bare.

He was looking into a lavishly furnished and carpeted office, with hardwood paneling on the walls covered with numerous landscapes and portraits of people Snape didn't recognize. Unlike real pictures, these portraits weren't moving, however; a Muggle giveaway if ever there was one. The room had a faint magical aura, Snape could tell — all of this had been Conjured or Transfigured. A large, polished wooden desk sat near the opposite end of the room. Behind it, a bald-headed man regarded Snape cheerfully. "I see you have the card Mr. Diggle left at the Leaky Cauldron," he said, nodding toward the card in Snape's hand.

"Who — are — you?" Snape asked, with a distinct pause between each word.

"I'm L. Luthor," Lex said, as if the card should have explained that. "But I don't believe I caught your name, Mr. —"

"My name is the least of your concerns," Snape said coldly, cutting him off. "And I don't know who you think you are, Luthor, but you're playing a very dangerous game."

"Oh, I know," Luthor replied, smiling blandly. He seemed wholly unconcerned that he was alone in a room with a wizard, with no visible or magical means of protection; at least, none that Snape could detect.

"You are not afraid?" Snape asked, his eyes boring into Luthor's.

Luthor cocked his head, tasting that idea for a moment. "Nope," he said, looking directly back at Snape. Snape, applying his Legilimency skills, was stunned to discover that he could not penetrate the man's mind at all. How could a Muggle have learned Occlumency so thoroughly, and seemingly so quickly?

"Since you won't tell me your name," Luthor went on, studying Snape carefully. "I suppose I should try to guess it." He was silent for several seconds. "I'd say you're Severus Snape, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. Correct?"

Snape said nothing. "How is your headmaster, Professor Dumbledore doing these days?" Luthor went on, smiling as one of Snape's eyebrows went up fractionally. "I see that surprises you. I know the names of all your Order members — Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Arthur and Molly Weasley — I could go on, but you get the idea."

Internally, Snape was seething. This — this _Muggle_ was mocking him! Outwardly, however, he maintained his demeanor, vowing not to let the momentary lapse in his expressions earlier be repeated. "This proves nothing," he said calmly. "Names, nothing more." He held up the card. "You brought me here for some purpose beyond naming names, did you not?"

"I did indeed," Luthor nodded. "I have a question for you, Mr. Snape."

Snape almost smiled in spite of himself. "A question for _me_? Surely you might have asked Diggle anything you wanted to. I see no reason for you to lure me here except to try to take me prisoner, as you did Diggle."

But Luthor shook his head. "Oh, no, nothing like that, I assure you," he replied. "You're free to go anything — but I would like an answer to my question, first."

Snape shrugged. "You may ask. I make no promise to answer."

"Hmm," Luthor made a shrugging gesture of his own. "Well, I suppose that's the best I can hope for, then. Okay, here's the question: If I have some Polyjuice Potion, and the bit of someone I want to become has special abilities, will I gain those abilities as well?"

Snape was frozen. This was a fiendishly clever question, one potioneers had debated for centuries. The consensus was that abilities that depended on brain activity could not be acquired by the potion-taker, since the brain remained intact — only the outward body changed. But if an ability was physiology-based, it might transfer. However, the two main wizarding abilities that potion-makers had tested this on were Metamorphmagi and Parselmouths. Both of them appeared to be brain-based; certain wizards were born with these abilities, and there seemed to be no way to acquire them through any amount of training. Snape wondered what type of ability this Luthor had in mind to duplicate.

"No answer?" Luthor said, after several moments of silence. "Shall I take that as a 'yes?'"

"Take it any way you want," Snape answered, making a decision and raising his wand. "You won't be remembering any of it. _Obliviate_!" Snape's wand flashed, but instead of his expression going blank, Luthor simply smiled more broadly at the wizard.

"_Stupefy_!" Snape shouted, and a red bolt shot from his wand, passing through Luthor's chest and ricocheting off the wall behind him. Snape stared, in frank surprise, as Luthor looked down at his chest, then back at Snape, and grinned.

"An oldie but a goodie," he said, touching something to one side of him that Snape could not see. He suddenly flickered weirdly, like an object that was Vanished and Conjured in quick succession. "I doubt you've ever heard of the technology, Professor, but this is known as a hologram," he explained. "That means that I am not really here, which is why your spells could not affect me.

Luthor spread his hands. "Well, this interview is at an end. Thanks for coming by." His image began to fade, but reappeared a moment later. "Oh," he added. "You might tell your headmaster that I may want to have a conversation with him at some point." He grinned, then waved. "See you in the funny papers." The image faded.

Snape breathed in, then out, very slowly. Dumbledore would never believe this. Snape wasn't sure _he_ believed it. But he knew what he'd seen, and soon Dumbledore would see it, too. He reached into his robe, touching the small phial that was his Portkey back to Hogwarts, and vanished in a swirl of color and whooshing wind.

=ooo=

"Fascinating," Albus Dumbledore said, stepping back from the Pensieve; he and Snape had just returned from viewing the memories of Snape's encounter with Luthor. "He seems quite conversant with our organization, and more than a little knowledgeable about magic in general."

"That would be Diggle's fault," Snape said, flatly. "The Muggle must have captured him before Diggle could utilize his wand."

"Undoubtedly," Dumbledore agreed, returning to his desk and seating himself behind it. "But we should not judge poor Dedalus too harshly," he said, steepling his fingers. "I suspect that he was not the one who gave away the presence of our wizarding community to this Luthor fellow."

Snape frowned. "What makes you say that? Who else could it —" he caught himself. "You don't mean…"

"I see your agile mind has leapt ahead to a conclusion, Severus," Dumbledore smiled, but raised a finger in warning. "However, it is not quite as simple as you might think. There are several things you are not aware of."

"Such as?" Snape sounded convinced that his conclusion would be the correct one.

"Such as," Dumbledore went on, "this Luthor — Lex Luthor being his full name — is an American criminal with a genius-level intellect, operating in and around the city of Metropolis for the past decade, until one of his schemes — a rather bold one, that involved destroying part of the western United States, was stopped by Superman."

"The American super-hero?" Snape recalled. "As I remember, he disappeared from Earth over five years ago, and hasn't been seen since."

"He has returned," Dumbledore stated.

"How are you aware of this?" Snape asked, an eyebrow rising.

"I've met him," the headmaster replied. "In his Fortress, in the Antarctic. When he returned, his ship entered the atmosphere over England, and crashlanded in Surrey."

"Surrey?" Snape caught the reference at once. "Where the Potter boy lives. No doubt he went chasing after the ship."

"And a fortunate thing he did, too," Dumbledore nodded. "Superman had been exposed to a piece of kryptonite, the substance that is deadly to him. He might have died had Harry not removed the kryptonite from his presence."

"Touching," Snape muttered. "So Superman and the Potter boy know one another now, is that what you're implying?"

Dumbledore smiled. "They know each other quite well, yes. In fact, there is more to the story than their simple acquaintance with one another." Briefly, he explained the accident that transferred some of their powers into one another, as Snape listened in growing disbelief.

"Does all this have anything to do with Potter transfer to that backwater school in America?" Snape asked, when Dumbledore had finished. "Did you send him away, to isolate him from the normal students of our school? If so, I applaud your decision."

"It was his decision, not mine, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "I tried to convince him to stay. I even considered more persuasive means, but finally decided that Harry must be where he wants to be, or he will not value whatever education he receives."

Snape shrugged, indifferent. "Whatever the reason, he is out of Hogwarts, perhaps forever. Perhaps we can have some normalcy around here again."

Dumbledore smiled wanly, holding up his right hand, blackened and shriveled. "Have you forgotten about our other mutual friend? The one who gave me this?"

"You did that to yourself," Snape answered, his voice cold. He seemed to relent a little. "But yes, we still have the Dark Lord to contend with. And we have less than a year before that curse breaks through the wards I've placed on your hand and begins to consume you again."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, looking dispassionately at his hand. "Quite a nuisance, having a short deadline like that."

"How casually you treat your own death," Snape muttered, almost resentfully. "Suppose I no longer wish uphold my end of our bargain?"

Dumbledore looked him, his expression grim. "Severus, you promised me you would deal with the situation as we discussed, when the time comes. You cannot back out now."

"Perhaps I do not wish to commit murder."

"Only you can be the judge of whether your actions will be murder, or helping a friend avoid a very painful, prolonged death," Dumbledore countered. "Besides, it may become moot, if Harry returns with a counter for the curse, as he promised." He smiled at Snape's look of disgust.

"Faugh," Snape grunted. "That's certainly Potter's style, to promise things he has no way to deliver!"

"Oh, I don't know," Dumbledore said, lightly. "Harry does have a way of coming through in the end."

"Mostly through sheer, dumb luck," Snape sneered. "It's a wonder he hasn't been killed by now, one way or another, either by the Dark Lord, Death Eaters, dragons or that giant acromantula in the Forbidden Forest."

"I may find myself wishing for luck like that," Dumbledore pointed out, "when this Luthor fellow comes to call on me."

Snape, for once, nodded agreement. "You should be on your guard against that one — he is too intelligent for a Muggle. He was not interested in holding me, but I imagine you would make a much more valuable prize for him.

"I'm quite sure," Dumbledore assented. "Of course, 'catching' me and 'keeping' me are two very different things. I will be most interested to see what Mr. Luthor's next move will be."


	16. The Hand of Fate

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Sixteen  
****The Hand of Fate**

_Updated 25 February 2011_

Aboard the _Alexandria_, docked in the Thames River several miles from where he and Severus Snape had just "met," Luthor shut down the rest of his holography equipment and sat back, smiling.

It felt good, outsmarting a wizard like that. Luthor could see now just how arrogant and predictable they were — a lot like Superman, in fact. Snape was a good case in point — he had swaggered into Luthor's office, expecting to run the show from start to finish, and had resorted to simple violence when he realized Luthor had some actual knowledge behind his Polyjuice question. It would have been better if Snape had answered the question and confirmed what Luthor had already read in several Potions texts, but his hesitation in answering had been enough for Luthor. The only thing left to do was perform the experiment.

Before he did that, however, Luthor decided to check in on his wizard "guest." When Dedalus Diggle first joined them, he had been subjected to several weeks of "behavior modification" — a.k.a. brainwashing, by Luthor and his henchmen. Luthor had come up with a unique combination of drugs, hypnotherapy, and control techniques that rendered Diggle quite susceptible to his wishes. Diggle now believed that most wizards were actively against him and his friend Lex Luthor, and would do anything Lex suggested to him. The only wizard, however, that Luthor couldn't turn Diggle completely against was Albus Dumbledore, but he had managed to convince the wizard that Dumbledore was being deceived by the other wizards around him, and thus was unworthy of trust.

At the door of Diggle's cabin, Luthor stopped, knocking for entrance. It was a reinforcement of Diggle being part of "Team Luthor" — allowing him his privacy, being polite, and above all making it seem as if he, not Luthor, was in control of his life. "Come in, come in," Diggle's voice said cheerfully.

Luthor entered the cabin. Diggle, dressed in his usual wizard robes, was seated in a comfortable plush chair, book in hand, smoking a long-handled pipe. "Good evening, Mr. Luthor," Diggle smiled, putting his book in his lap. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, just checking to see how you're doing this evening, Mr. Diggle," Luthor said, smiling. "I thought I'd come by to say hello before I turn in for the night."

"Very thoughtful of you, very thoughtful!" Diggle beamed. "I shall be turning in myself before much longer as well."

"Good," Luthor nodded. He started to turn away, but stopped. "Oh, by the way — how's the Polyjuice Potion I asked you to prepare coming along?"

"Oh, that?" Diggle picked up his book again. "I finished it this morning; you'll find it simmering in your workshop."

"Ah, splendid!" Luthor clapped his hands together delightedly. "And about my other request?"

At this question, Diggle looked a bit abashed. "I was able to refill the vial you gave me a _little_, but that substance, whatever it was, was very resistant to the Refilling Charm."

"How much were you able to refill?" Luthor asked, his voice suddenly serious.

Diggle shrugged. "Perhaps a third of the vial. I hope that was enough."

"Mmm," Luthor thought for a moment. "It may be. Good work, Mr. Diggle."

Diggle beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor, thank you!"

"Have a good night," Luthor said, stepping out of the cabin and closing the door on Diggle's reply. A third of the vial would not give him more than four or five samples to use, and one would be taken up with the test he was about to perform. Well, as he'd told Diggle, it _might_ work, though he would have to use the samples _very_ judiciously.

Whistling tunelessly, Luthor made his way down to the galley, where he and Diggle had set up a small Potions lab. He walked over to the stainless steel range. Sitting incongruously on it was a battered copper cauldron, filled with a bubbling gray sludge that Luthor knew to be Polyjuice Potion. He took out a cup and ladle, then filled the cup with the recommended amount of potion. It looked like thick, dark, lumpy oatmeal, bland and almost inedible. But if this worked, he knew, he would have a formidable weapon in his arsenal against Superman, his friend Harry Potter, the Wizarding world and anyone else who got in his way. On the counter he found the vial that Diggle had only been able to partially refill — as he'd said, it was only about one-third full. Intriguing that this stuff was so difficult to create more of, when most substances reacted quite favorably to the Refilling Charm. Whatever it was about Kryptonian blood, Luthor mused, it certainly made it a precious commodity. He made sure the vial was tightly capped, then slipped it into his pocket.

Luthor made his way to the ship's exercise room, where he would carry out his experiment — hopefully with the desired results. The exercise room was fully equipped, with both free weights and various machines, though up to this point Luthor had only used one of the treadmills, and that sparingly. Now, if his idea was correct, he was about to see some _dramatic_ increases in his abilities!

Taking out the vial of Kryptonian blood, Luthor prepared to add this last, crucial ingredient to the Polyjuice Potion. But he stopped short of pouring any in, pondering. Diggle had said the potion would change color when the last ingredient was added, but he never said how _much_ or how _little_ should be added. As a scientist, that vagueness bothered Luthor. He went to the first aid cabinet, rummaging around until he found a small eye dropper. Rinsing it out thoroughly, Luthor drew up a small sample of Kryptonian blood and held it carefully over the cup of Polyjuice potion. He would add drops of Superman's blood, one after the other, until there was a noticeable change in the potion. That would tell him exactly how much he should use each time.

He let the first drop fall, watching carefully for several seconds for any change in the gray, bubbling sludge. Nothing. A second drop produced no result, either. On the third drop, however, the potion began to foam, then belched forth a cloud of steam, turning a bright yellow. Three drops it was! Satisfied, Luthor emptied the rest of the dropper back into the vial and carefully capped it once again.

He picked up the cup of now yellowish, steaming liquid, regarding it most curiously, and with more than a little sense of apprehension. Wizards supposedly drank this stuff all the time, he thought, but there was no telling what it would do to _him_. He'd had Diggle's assurance that it worked on Muggle or wizard — but Diggle couldn't remember any Muggles who'd actually taken Polyjuice Potion. Well, he would just have to risk it. "Bottoms up," Luthor said to himself, and drank off the potion in three large gulps. It was like swallowing overcooked cabbage.

"Euuck," Luthor muttered, wanting to spit out the last bit of potion even as it went down his throat. "God, that was nasty!" He wiped his mouth, more a symbolic gesture than to clear away remains of the potion. "This had better work —" His hands went involuntarily to his stomach, which had begun to feel quite weird. It felt like he'd swallowed a bunch of live snakes — snakes that were now writhing about inside him. A sudden cramp doubled him over with the pain, and he dropped to one knee, grimacing as he felt his insides grow hot, the sensation spreading rapidly to his limbs, and he dropped to his hands and knees, feeling nauseous. His entire body began to feel as if it were melting; when Luthor opened his eyes, staring at his hands, he noticed the age lines on the back were smoothing out, disappearing. He could feel his arms beginning to bulge — indeed, his entire body seemed to be growing. His shirt was tight on him now — he could feel the muscles of his shoulders and chest getting larger and larger. His stomach muscles were tightening into a six-pack. There was a ripping sound as the uppers of his expensive leather shoes tore free from the soles.

_Damn_, thought Luthor. _Those were my best pair of Allen Edmonds_! His body suddenly stopped changing, and Luthor slowly regained his feet, looking down at himself. He certainly felt different now! In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time. He felt — well, _super_.

Glancing around, he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the first-aid cabinet, and stepped back, startled by the image of Superman in the mirror. He looked again. Yes, he now looked exactly like Superman — his own face was gone. Well, one had to take the bad with the good, Luthor reasoned. It would be back in an hour, when the potion's effects ended.

Now it was time to see just how much he had changed. Luthor walked slowly over to one of the racks of free weights, the one Brutus and the others used. One barbell in particular was loaded with weights — Luthor estimated it was set for 350 pounds. That was much, much greater than any weight a normal Lex Luthor could lift. Reaching out carefully, he put both hands on the bar, took a slow, deep breath, then — lifted.

The weight lifted effortlessly! Luthor brought it up to his chin, looking at both ends of the barbell to make sure the weights hadn't slipped off. He lifted the barbell above his head, pumping it effortlessly, then shifted his grip so he was pumping it with his right hand only.

Luthor held the barbell out in front of him, one-handed, then let go. The weight began to fall, but slowed and stopped, hanging in mid-air, as his perception increased to superhuman level. He smiled broadly, watching the barbell move almost imperceptibly downward as gravity pulled it toward the floor of the gym. He moved across the room, picking up a dumbbell weighing about 25 pounds, composed of steel and lead. Grasping the ends, he began to twist them like taffy. The sensation of hard metal feeling so soft and pliant beneath his grip was incredible! He crushed the dumbbell into a small metal ball; then, remembering another of Superman's powers, stared at the ball, willing it to heat up. Very quickly, two small red spots began glowing on the ball, spreading rapidly until it was glowing red all over. Heat vision! He relaxed, satisfied with what he had accomplished.

There was a loud crash as the barbell he'd let go of earlier finally hit the floor. Lex glanced over at it, but otherwise paid it no mind. This was all he had hoped for. Luthor remembered thinking, once, that Superman was like the old Greek gods, that jealously controlled their powers and kept anyone from sharing in them. That was no longer true, now. Now, for at least an hour, he could do anything Superman could do. And that opened up some interesting possibilities for the future — especially if he wanted to make things difficult for the Man of Steel. If he could find one of those red-and-blue suits, he could fly around, pretending to be the Big Blue Boy Scout, and causing no end of trouble.

But, Luthor reminded himself, he had better things to do with his time than mess around with the reputation of someone most of the world hadn't even realized was back on Earth again. Superman had not made his presence publicly known, even now. And that was fine with Luthor. By the time he was done, Superman wouldn't even be worth worrying about — he'd have more power than anything Superman could bring to bear against him.

The door to the exercise room burst open and Brutus bolted through it, looking around. "What was al that racket — hey!" he spotted Luthor-as-Superman, dressed in a tight-fitting shirt, pants and ripped shoes, and instantly drew his revolver. "Who the hell are _you_?" he asked, pointing the weapon at him.

"Relax," Luthor said, impatiently. "It's just me."

"'Me' _who_?" Brutus challenged, still not sure who was addressing him.

"Your boss, Lex Luthor," Luthor said, annoyed. "Who else would I — oh, that's right!" he chuckled, confusing Brutus even more. "I forgot — I'm not myself right now, am I?"

"Buddy, I don't know who you are, either," Brutus said, waving the gun threateningly. "But you'd better start coming up with some answers or I'm gonna drill you."

"Oh, really?" Luthor smirked. "Well, go ahead — drill me." He nodded at Brutus's weapon. "Shoot me with your big, bad gun."

"You keep messing with me and I will," Brutus said, angrily.

"Then go ahead," Luthor said. He took a step toward Brutus. "I dare you." When his henchman's eyes narrowed, Luthor smiled and took another step. "I _double_ dare you —"

Brutus fired. Luthor's hand moved just as the gun went off. He held it out a moment later, palm open, and Brutus saw a single bullet in the center of his hand. "Huh?" Brutus looked confused, then scared. "Oh crap — is that _you_, Superman!"

"You idiot," Luthor snapped. "I _told_ you it's me, Lex Luthor! I'm testing something that gives me Superman's appearance as well as his powers."

"Oh." Brutus slumped, relieved. "For a second there, boss, I thought I was a goner." The way the man had spoken to him, more than anything, convinced Brutus who it really was. "I guess we need to get used to you lookin' like that from now on, huh?"

"It's not permanent," Luthor said. "I'll be back to my old self in a while."

Brutus looked impressed. "That's pretty cool."

But Luthor was no longer listening — he was staring upward, seemingly at the ceiling. "I wonder how I can test for flying?" he murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Inside the ship might be a little dangerous, especially if I lose control…"

"Well, if you're invulnerable, like Superman, how's it gonna hurt you?" Brutus wanted to know.

"Dangerous for the ship, not for me," Luthor clarified, absently. "I don't want to accidentally sink it — the rates here in London for a good hotel room are exorbitant."

"So what are you gonna do with Superman's powers, boss?" Brutus asked, curiously. "Are you gonna try an' take over, like those three Kryptonians you told us about?"

"Well, not like _them_," Luthor said, derisively. "They just showed up and expected everyone to bow down to them because they were Kryptonians, like I expect Superman would like to do, by the way, but he's too much of a boy scout to really assert himself. Then, when they found out he was the son of Jor-El, things _really_ got ugly. If Zod hadn't been so arrogant, I might be lounging on a beach in Australia today…" He glanced over; Brutus was staring blankly at him. "Never mind," he muttered. He glanced at his watch. "Make sure we're secure for the night."

"Aye, aye, boss," Brutus grinned, happy to be given an order he could understand. He left the exercise room, leaving Luthor alone again. He would continue practicing using his powers for the remainder of the hour — he wanted to know how fast he could move, how strong he was, and so on, in preparation for a visit to another famous wizard — one who was supposedly the smartest, most powerful wizard (excepting perhaps Lord Voldemort) on Earth — Albus Dumbledore. Luthor had a few questions for him, just as he'd had for Severus Snape earlier this evening.

In Dumbledore's case, however, the stakes were correspondingly higher. His questions for Dumbledore involved not just potions or everyday magic used by most wizards, but one of the most powerful objects ever created — the Philosopher's Stone! Luthor was quite sure that, contrary to popular belief in the Wizarding world, Dumbledore had _not_ destroyed the only known Philosopher's Stone, as reported in the _Daily Prophet_ in June 1992, but had that story printed as a way to deceive the Wizarding world. Dumbledore's friend, Nicholas Flamel, would not have allowed such a priceless object to be taken from him and disposed of, not after more than 600 years of extended life! Soon, Luthor felt, _he_ would have the Stone in his possession. Once that was accomplished, he would put it to good use — not for the gold it could create, for Luthor already had more money than he would ever spend. But for the power it could give him.

=ooo=

Harry could feel the enemy forces moving in on him from all sides. His magical senses, trained and honed over the past eighteen months of battle drills and intense meditation techniques, had prepared him for this moment. Even though in almost complete darkness (it _was_ the Dark Dimension, after all, he thought wryly) he could see the magical auras of the creatures being arrayed against him, to destroy him.

They weren't going to be nearly enough.

Harry drew rings of mystic protection around himself: the Bands of Cyttorak. Most of the creatures approaching him would be unable to breach this protection. There were flashes of red fire and shrieks of pain as some of them tried anyway and were consumed by the bands. Harry smiled grimly, noting that most of the opposing forces were now shrinking away from his position.

There were a few notable exceptions. A very large demon, perhaps eighteen feet tall and looking like a nightmare version of Hagrid's half-brother, Grawp, stepped across the Bands. Fire flared briefly but the demon merely grunted, hardly seeming to notice the flames, which died as it passed into the circle with Harry.

"Pretty tough, aren't you?" Harry smirked at the behemoth, and it roared dully at him, then began shambling forward, a scaly, clawed hand extended to reach down and grab him.

At a gesture from Harry, however, the demon suddenly spun sideways, thrown off-balance by a simple Banishing Charm applied to his outstretched hand. That momentary distraction gave Harry time to conjure up a portal beneath the demon, dropping him into a pocket region of the Dark Dimension, one where it would stay until Harry could decide what to do with it. The demon howled as it suddenly dropped out of sight, with a burst of snow and ice shooting up out of the portal — he had sent the demon to an ice pocket dimension, something a fire demon would surely find discomforting!

A warning that suddenly rang through his mind made Harry step to one side, just in time to avoid a bolt of magical energy that cracked the ground where he had stood a moment ago. Looking up, he saw a pair of gryphon-mounted Faltine knights, powerful minions of Dormammu. Their first attack had failed but they were circling around, coming at him from opposite directions, trying to catch him in a cross-fire from the air. It was a nice maneuver, Harry thought, especially since he had limited his own movements to within the Bands of Cyttorak. However, since they were his only two attackers at the moment, Harry could concentrate all his counterattacks on _them_.

As both knights cast their second round of magical bolts at him, Harry suddenly disappeared, and the bolts exploded harmlessly within the empty Bands. Neither knight saw that Harry had reappeared in mid-air above and between them, watching as they approached one another for a close fly-by. Harry made a gesture, holding his hand out like a wall, and a shimmering veil of magical force suddenly appeared in both knights' path. They and their mounts slammed headlong into the veil, then crashed to the ground, not to move again.

Now that Harry was in the air, he decided it was time to mop up the rest of the creatures below. He gestured once again, invoking the Winds of Watoomb and carrying away the creatures below him. Soon the battlefield was bare of all life — only the bodies of those who had fallen were left below him.

Harry floated to the ground, looking around for any sign of further resistance. There was none. Behind him there was a soft clapping as Clea appeared. Harry ignored her until she spoke.

"An excellent exercise today, my dear — you have progressed quite nicely," Clea praised him. "Just a few weeks ago an attack like that might have overwhelmed you, but you kept your wits and dealt with the situation quite methodically — and quite handily, for that matter."

"Thanks," Harry said, though his tone was flat and carried no real thankfulness with it. "I guess after training day-in and day-out for a year and a half, eventually I'll get things right."

Clea rolled her eyes. "You sound a little bitter, Harry. Don't you realize how much more _powerful_ you are now than when you first came here? Your magical ability has increased a hundredfold since you arrived!"

It was true — he was much more magically powerful now. The magical energies within the Dark Dimension seemed be seeping into his body, much like yellow solar radiation did back on Earth, granting him super-powers. Here, however, there was no yellow sun; within a short time his physical powers, such as they were here, had completely faded. It had made little difference, he found; Clea could be as strong as she wanted, in this dimension, and his X-ray vision had not worked on the magical walls and ceilings of her palace. Neither had his heat vision. Magic, Harry found, was going to be the only way he would get out of here, and in eighteen months of reading in the palace Library he had not yet discovered a way to circumvent Clea's hold upon him.

Clea's breath was suddenly warm upon his neck as she pressed herself against him. "Perhaps it's time for you to consider all the benefits you might have here, if you only allow yourself."

Her mouth was next to his, moist and inviting. Her body, pressed tightly against him, was supple and curvaceous; his own body, now closer to eighteen than sixteen in his own perceptions, was reacting instinctively to hers. Harry suddenly pressed his mouth against hers, and she smiled, letting him kiss her. A moment later he stepped back, repulsed by what he'd done.

"What's wrong?" she asked, smiling coquettishly. "That was a nice first taste, Harry. What are you waiting for?"

"You've got to be joking," Harry said, disgusted with himself. "How could I forget, even for a _moment_, that you've kidnapped me and brought me here against my will! Whatever you think I'm here for, it's not be some kind of plaything for you to enjoy at your leisure!"

"Oh, please!" Clea snorted. "You always fall back on playing the martyr, Harry! The truth is, you _enjoy_ all the magical ability you've gained here — I know how much time you spend in the Library!"

"Did you ever consider," Harry said viciously, "that I spend time in the Library to get away from _you_?"

Clea managed to look almost hurt by that. "After all I've done for you, still you spurn me? I am the _Sorcerer Supreme_ of both this dimension and Earth! You should be grateful that I desire you!"

"Desire? Is that all you feel for me?" Harry asked. "So I _am_ just a plaything to you, something else to be conquered by you!"

"You're a lot more than that!" Clea told him, her voice now thick with emotion. "Harry, you're _special_! I knew that the moment I saw you, that first day at the Academy! I believe you are destined for greatness, a greatness I want you to achieve — but you needed to prepare yourself for that destiny, and the Academy was no place for you to do that!"  
"So what are you saying?" Harry asked, his voice laden with irony. "You kidnapped me for _my own good_?"

"Yes! Yes!" Clea shouted. "You would never have left of your own accord — you were too wrapped up in the juvenile foolishness of your friends, you would never have left them without my help!"

"Without your interference, you mean," Harry added, bitterly. "I've been here a year and a half and you've never said a thing about this until now!"

"I gave you a goal," Clea told him. "Prepare for my uncle's invasion!"

"That was supposed to be 'Real Soon Now,'" Harry snapped. "We're still waiting for something to happen! I don't think that's the real reason I'm here, anyway!"

"Oh?" Clea raised her eyebrows questioningly. "What do you think is the real reason, then?"

"I think it's _you_," Harry said, bluntly. "I think you're obsessed with me, for some reason. I think you brought me here so I'd be with you all the time."

Clea looked at him for a long moment. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Well _duh_!" Harry practically shouted. "Did you even stop to consider how _I_ felt about it? What were you _thinking_, anyway?"

The hurt look on Clea's face was genuine, now. She looked at him a long time, until Harry started to feel uncomfortable under her stare, then she said, "I was thinking, Harry, that I — loved you."

Harry gaped at her, openmouthed. "_Loved_ me? And so you _kidnapped_ me! Clea, I don't think you have _any idea _what love means!"

"Don't _say_ that!" Clea exploded. "I know very well what love is! Stephen loved me more than anything in the universe!"

"Sure he did," Harry sneered. "Right up until you betrayed him!"

Clear reared back as if slapped. "What do you mean by that!"

Harry pointed at the golden pendant hanging around her neck. "That," he told her, "is the Eye of Agamotto. It was originally worn by Dr. Strange when he was Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. It's considered the primary mystical tool of Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, a gift from Agamotto, Earth's first Sorcerer Supreme in the distant past, to his successors. Considering how I've heard Dr. Strange talk about being Sorcerer Supreme, he would not have given up the title willingly. Judging from the change in your relationship with him, I suspect you tricked him out of it, somehow, or stole it from him outright."

Clea was glaring at him with smoldering eyes. "That information on Stephen and me was in the Restricted Section of my Library. You must have broken in there without my permission!"

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "I have this thing about Restricted Sections in Libraries, I guess."

"Well, you know the truth, now," Clea said. "Stephen's interests were focused on the Earth — he did not see Dormammu as a threat there, as they had supposedly came to an agreement that Dormammu would leave Earth alone. But he had made no such promise for the Dark Dimension — and I knew he would one day return to reclaim it for himself. I had to protect it from him, even if that meant taking the Eye from Stephen!

"But this changes nothing," she continued. "You will remain here, to help me when Dormammu attacks. When he is destroyed, you may return to Earth, if you desire, and your boring destiny there. I will even dispose of your irksome Lord Voldemort, if you so wish."

"Wait a minute," Harry objected "'_Destroy'_ Dormammu? That wasn't our original deal! You only needed me to help drive him off!"

Clea looked indifferent. "Think of it as the new price of your ransom from here — an additional payment for the…aggravation you've caused me, Harry Potter."

Harry started to protest, but Clea made a slashing gesture and his voice died in his throat. "Silence! I don't want to hear any more from you! You are banished to your room until I am no longer angry with you!" With a second gesture Harry vanished in a flash of light, reappearing a moment later in his quarters in the palace.

Harry looked around, sighing to himself. He probably shouldn't have let her get under his skin like that, but he was tired of the duplicity and the lies — and knowing that she had in essence usurped the power of the Sorcerer Supreme from Dr. Strange made her even less likable in his eyes, even if she was doing it for "the good of everyone in the Dark Dimension, to protect them from Dormammu's tyranny." She was no better than Dormammu himself, in that regard, at least as far as Harry was concerned.

He walked slowly over to his bed, an enormous square cushion, larger than his entire dorm room back at Hogwarts, and sat on its edge. There was no telling what ideas Clea had originally had for him and this bed, but he had never once succumbed to her advances, not until his moment of weakness today. Harry tasted his lips, remembering the sweetness of her, but shook his head determinedly. She would never have him, not unless she simply took over his mind, and she did not seem inclined to go that far, thankfully.

In fact, Harry's mind was another aspect of himself he'd been improving over the past eighteen months. Mind techniques from books in Clea's library allowed him to delve deeper and deeper into himself in meditations, allowing him to approach the boundaries of the Dark Dimension while his physical body was trapped within it. Harry thought, with continued, practice, that he might someday breach the Dark Dimension, at least psychically, and touch the mind of someone back on Earth. He laid back on the bed, calming himself and preparing for yet another attempt to move beyond the Dark Dimension. Unless Dormammu showed up soon, it might prove to be the only way for him to get out of here.

=ooo=

Ron was dreaming. In his dream he was walking down a long, dark path, uncertain where he was or where he was going. He could hear vague sounds around him: moaning and groaning, as if there were people just beyond the limits of his vision, trying to get his attention. It reminded Ron of the Forbidden Forest, and thoughts of spiders kept him looking around for signs of the eight-legged horrors creeping up behind him. He needed to find Harry so they could get out of here!

As if on cue, he heard Harry's voice in the distance. "Ron!" the voice said. "I'm here! Help me!" Ron hurried forward, moving toward the voice, though he could see nothing ahead of him.

"Harry!" he called out. "I'm coming, Harry! Hold on!" He began running, but whether it was toward Harry or away from the spiders he felt sure were behind him, Ron couldn't tell. He only knew he had to find Harry, and fast, before —

Before _what_? Ron didn't really want to know what "what" was. Suddenly he caught sight of a figure in the distance, illuminated somehow — perhaps with a wand casting _Lumos_. "Harry?" Ron called, and the figure waved at him.

Heartened, Ron pushed forward. "I'm coming, Harry!" he called again, and ran pell-mell toward the figure. He could see it was Harry now, though his friend looked — strange, distorted somehow, as if Ron were viewing him through a funhouse mirror or a Confundus Charm. As Ron drew nearer Harry put out his hand for Ron to grab, but as hard as he was running, Ron could not seem to close the final few feet between them.

"Grab my hand, Ron!" Harry implored him. "Before it's too late…!" But even as he spoke, Harry seemed to slip away, his image fading to darkness.

"NO!" Ron shouted, redoubling his efforts to grab Harry. He lurched forward — and found himself sitting bolt upright in bed.

"What the hell are you shouting about?" Dalton, his roommate, grumbled from beneath his covers "I'm trying to get some sleep here!"

Ron looked around, confused. It took him several seconds to realize that what he'd just experienced had not really happened. He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to him. It read 3:17 a.m. "Sorry," he muttered to Dalton, then lay back down, thinking about the dream he'd just had. It had seemed as real as anything he'd ever experienced, until he woke up. He would have to talk with Hermione about it in the morning…

…Which arrived all-to-early for him that Tuesday morning, leaving Ron scrambling to get ready for classes after his alarm failed to awaken him (or he'd forgotten to set it last night, or more likely, Dalton had switched it off in retaliation for waking him up at three a.m.); whatever the reason, by the time he arrived in the cafeteria that morning, Hermione was huddled up with Ginny, the both of them talking quietly but intently with one another. Ron decided not to interrupt them — he would wait until lunch to talk to Hermione.

Classes dragged on interminably that morning. Sitting next to Hermione in most of them, Ron may as well have been back in England if he'd wanted to talk to her — she was continually writing things down in her notebook, or concentrating so thoroughly that he couldn't get her attention. He even considered pinching her, but decided it would probably get him punched and a class detention to boot.

By lunch, Ron was bursting at the seams to talk about his dream from the previous night. However, he lost Hermione in the mass of students moving toward the cafeteria, so he changed course toward his locker, dropped off the books for his morning classes and grabbed books for the afternoon classes, then hustled back to the cafeteria. This time, Hermione was sitting alone at a table, a salad on a cafeteria tray in front of her. Filling his tray as usual (because a growing boy's got to eat, you know!) Ron plopped down in the seat next to her. "I've got something to tell you," he said, without preamble.

She looked up at him. "Where were you this morning at breakfast?" she asked, a bit crossly. "I wanted to tell you something important!"

Ron was nonplussed. "You were talking to Ginny," he told her. "I didn't want to bother you!"

"We were waiting for you!" she said. "Oh, never mind! Wait 'til you hear what I dreamed last night!"

Ron snorted. "Funny — I was going to tell you what _I_ dreamed last night, too!"

She looked at him curiously. "Was it about Harry?"

Ron's mouth gaped. "How'd you _know_?" he asked, incredulous.

"I had a dream too!" Hermione said, excitedly. "So did Ginny! Isn't that an interesting coincidence?"

"Weird, is what I'd call it," Ron muttered, as Ginny joined them at the table with her own tray.

"What'd he say?" Ginny asked Hermione, as she sat down.

"Ron had a dream about Harry, too!" Hermione told her. All three of them looked at one another.

"What did _you_ dream?" they each asked at the same moment. Ron laughed nervously at this, while Hermione and Ginny stared at one another for a moment before turning to Ron.

"You first, Ron," Hermione said, and Ron related the details of his dream, as much as he could remember. When he finished, she nodded. "Mine was pretty much like that, too — I was walking through a dark place, trying to figure out where Harry was, when suddenly I saw him ahead of me. I ran to him but couldn't reach him, then he disappeared."

"And mine was like Hermione's," Ginny added. "Why would we all three have the same dream about Harry?"

"Because you've both been going mental over Harry being gone, and you're taking me with you," Ron theorized, only half-joking. Ginny slapped him on the arm. "Ow. All right, no need to get violent, little sister."

"It's got to be something deeper than that," Hermione disagreed, taking Ron seriously. "You know, Harry used to get mental images from Voldemort —"

Ron winced. "_Please _— don't say his name!"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione looked chagrinned. "He's thousands of miles away from us here! Honestly! Anyway," she went on. "It's possible we are receiving Harry's thoughts from — from wherever he is right now."

"You think that's why we all had about the same dream?" Ginny asked. "Because it was coming from Harry?"

"It seems a reasonable explanation," Hermione nodded. "Harry never gave us a _lot_ of explanation for how his connection with Voldemort —" ignoring Ron's wince this time "— worked."

"Fine, then," Ron said, still looking pained by her use of the Name. "Now, what do we do _next_?"

"Obvious," Hermione smiled. "We go to Professor Potter."

"Right," Ron said, skeptically. "And he chucks us out of school for losing Harry in the first place."

"He's not going to do that!" Hermione scoffed. "Besides, he already has to know Harry's missing — the teachers would have reported him missing from classes yesterday and this morning."

"But this is the _fourth_ day he's been missing," Ginny pointed out. She looked accusingly at Ron. "Why didn't you tell Professor Potter _sooner_?"

"Hey, I don't rat out my mates!" Ron objected, hotly. "Besides, as far as I knew, Harry was working on a school project!"

"Yeah," Ginny snarled. "A 'project' like that hot blonde substitute teacher!"

"Well, I guess he can go out with whoever he wants to!" Ron snapped. "He doesn't need to date my sister!"

Ginny fixed him with a deadly glare. "That's _none_ of your concern, Ron Weasley!" she said, quietly but with strong emotion cracking her voice.

"Like hell," Ron muttered, but didn't challenge her comment further.

"Alright, _alright_," Hermione held up her hands to stop their argument. "Let's sort that out _after_ we talk to Professor Potter. Agreed?"

"Fine," Ron mumbled. Ginny nodded, looking grimly at her brother — a promise that the argument was far from over. The three of them gathered up their books and other belongings, dumped the trays off to be washed, and made their way toward the Dean's office.

=ooo=

"Thank you for coming, Albus," Professor Potter was saying at that very moment, as he and Professor Dumbledore shook hands in his office. "I notified you as soon as I received the reports of Harry's disappearance." He gestured toward a plush chair for Dumbledore to sit in.

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore said, making himself comfortable.

"Would you care for some tea?" Potter asked solicitously.

"Thank you," Dumbledore nodded, then asked, "How long have you been aware that Harry was missing, Phineas?"

"Well —" Potter managed to look embarrassed. "I'm afraid I only noticed that he'd attended none of his classes yesterday when I saw the reports this morning." He handed Dumbledore a cup of steaming tea, who accepted it with a murmured "Thank you." "And he has attended none of this morning's classes, either."

"I see." Dumbledore did not mention that he'd known Harry was missing since mid-Saturday, nor that he was not merely missing but seemingly Untraceable, as well. "Do you have any idea where he might have got off to, Phineas?"

Potter looked worried. "I'd rather hoped _you'd_ have some idea, Albus," he said, candidly. "He's been your student longer, you know."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "But Harry is also at the age where he is beginning to question his purpose in life. It may be difficult just what he's up to right now."  
"Oh dear, oh dear!" Potter shook his head, his nerves frazzled at the prospect of having "lost" Harry Potter on his watch. "I really don't know what to say, Albus! This is terrible!"

"To be accurate," Dumbledore clarified. "This could be disastrous, both for Britain and the world. Harry may be the only person that stands between us and Voldemort taking over England, then the world."

Potter looked incredulous. "Oh, surely not, Dumbledore! You have your Aurors there, do you not? Surely _they_ can handle the man and his — Death Eaters, aren't they called?"

"I don't think you grasp the depths of the terror that Voldemort and his followers have instilled in Wizarding Britain," Dumbledore pointed out. "Both wizards and Muggles are afraid to move about at night — dementors and other foul creatures are beginning to move about openly, even in cities like London. Professor Snape, my Defense teacher, saw a few dementors in the open when he was there Sunday evening."  
"Really?" Potter said, breathlessly. "It's that bad there?"

"It seems so," Dumbledore nodded grimly.

There was a knock at the door. Both men turned toward it, and Potter looked irritable. "I'm in a meeting right now — can it wait until later?"

"It's — it's about Harry Potter, sir," Hermione's voice came tremulously through the door. Potter blinked, surprised by the coincidence, and gestured at the door, which swung upon to reveal the three ex-Hogwarts students: Hermione, Ron, and Ginny standing outside.

"Come in, come in," Professor Potter waved them inside the room. "I suspect you three already know my guest."

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's good to see you!"

Dumbledore inclined his head to her. "And you as well, Miss Granger — and you as well, Mr. and Miss Weasley," he added, to the others.

"Are you here about Harry, too?" Ron asked, on impulse. Dumbledore nodded.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Ginny asked, anxiously.

"No, I do not, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore answered her. "But I hope we can discover what has become of him."

"Why are you here?" Professor Potter asked the students.

"We each had a dream about Harry last night," Hermione explained. "The dreams were very similar — we think we might have been communicating directly with Harry somehow."

"Interesting," Dumbledore remarked. "You are aware, of course, Miss Granger, that Harry was sometimes able to hear the thoughts of Voldemort."

"Yes, we thought of that!" Hermione nodded eagerly.

"Do you understand how that might have happened?" Dumbledore questioned her.

"Ummm —" Hermione looked confused by the question. "Not really, sir, no."

"Harry and Voldemort were joined when the Killing Curse rebounded from Harry and destroyed Voldemort's body," Dumbledore explained. "I do not think that any of you have yet had that intimate a relationship with Harry, have you?"

Hermione, Ron and Ginny all shook their heads no. "But that's a pretty wild coincidence then, isn't it?" Ron blurted.

"Indeed it is, Ronald," Dumbledore agreed. "And we may have to explore just how it came about. But I would be very surprised if any of you were in mental contact with Harry."

There was another knock. Standing in the doorway were two teachers. "Miss Sullivan, Miss Rasputin," Professor Potter looked surprised to see them. "What is it?"

The two young women looked at each other. Then Miss Sullivan spoke. "Sorry to disturb you, but —" she shrugged, then plunged ahead. "Well, Illyana and I _happened_ to overhear your conversation with Professor Dumbledore —"

"In other words, you were eavesdropping," Dumbledore put in, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Er — yes, I guess so," Miss Sullivan admitted.

"And a good thing, too," Illyana put in, giving Dumbledore an even look. "Chloe and I should be able to get to the bottom of this."

Dumbledore did not react, while Ron looked on in surprise. Hermione and Ginny both looked at one another, hopeful, and Professor Potter said, "Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated, ladies!"

Chloe nodded and turned to Ron. "I want to examine your memories of the dream you had."

"O-okay," Ron said. He looked around nervously. "What do I have to do?"

"Just relax and think about the dream," Chloe said, softly, placing her hands on either side of Ron's head. Ron jerked, as if her touch had shocked him, but settled down and seemed to enter a dreamlike state; his eyes closed, he breathed slowly and steadily as Chloe concentrated. "Yes," she said, after a minute. "I'm reaching them…" She was silent for some time, then suddenly opened her eyes, letting go of Ron's head.

"You were right," she said to Illyana. "It wasn't Harry in contact with them."

"Wasn't Harry?" Hermione looked perplexed. "Who else could it _be_?"

"Someone who wanted you to _think_ it was Harry," Illyana answered her. She turned to Professor Potter. "Chloe and I think that Harry was taken by Clea to her home universe, the Dark Dimension."

"Uh-oh," Ron blurted, then realized he'd said it aloud as everyone looked at him.

"Do you know something about this, Ronald?" Dumbledore asked, looking directly at him.

"He does," Hermione said, before Ron could answer. Ron shot her a look, but nodded to Dumbledore.

"I talked to Jon Clark a few days ago." Ron described their meeting, leaving out the parts where he bullied Jon, but confirmed him telling saying that Harry liked Clea. Ron guessed from this that the "project" Harry said he was working on was a cover for going on a date with Clea, probably Friday after classes.

"Great," Illyana said, with heavy sarcasm. "That means he's been missing nearly four days now. In the Dark Dimension!"

"Four days isn't _that_ long, is it?" Ginny asked, worriedly.

"Not for us, no," Illyana agreed. "But time can pass at different rates in alternate universes like the Dark Dimension. And Clea, as the Sorcerer Supreme of that dimension, has complete control over the passage of time. Months or even _years_ might have passed for Harry during those four days."

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked her.

Illyana gave her an even look. "I know," she said, flatly. "Believe me, I _know_."

"What can we do to get him back here?" Dumbledore asked.

"If I know Clea," Illyana said, "and I'm pretty sure I do, we're going to have to go get him."

"In the Dark Dimension?" Hermione looked aghast. "Doesn't it take very powerful magic to breach dimensions? I thought only wizards like Dr. Strange could do that, back when he was Sorcerer Supreme."

"There are other ways," Illyana told her. "But first, we'll need a team, especially if we're going get in there, find Harry, and get out as quickly as possible. The Dark Dimension is actually a fractal universe — it's an amalgam of different regions, some hidden from one another, some hidden within other regions. We're going to need someone with the ability to sense a person across dimensional barriers." She glanced sideways at Chloe.

Chloe arched an eyebrow at her. "I thought you were going to be able to handle that," she objected.

Illyana shrugged. "Not in the Dark Dimension. Maybe if Stephen Strange still had the Eye, he might be able to locate Harry, but I'd be jumping back and forth all over the place. I don't have your gifts, girl."

Chloe sighed. "I didn't really want to get back into this, you know."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Illyana sneered. "It's hell being a super-hero, isn't it?"

"What _are_ you two talking about?" Professor Potter wanted to know.

Illyana laughed. "Just some of our sordid past catching up with us, Professor!"

Chloe looked more contrite. "I didn't mention this in my job interview, Professor, but I wasn't always magical. I lived a rather normal life as a child, attended college, and was getting my Ph.D. in archaeology when I came upon a find so rare, so astounding, that I couldn't believe it. Imagine my amazement when I learned I'd discovered — the Helmet of Fate."

Both Dumbledore and Potter started as Chloe said this. "Indeed?" Dumbledore looked quite impressed. "It was said that the Helmet was but a myth of the ancient Egyptians — are you saying it is real?"

"Yes," Chloe replied. "It's real. Trust me on that." She turned back to Illyana. "So, given that you and I are on the team, who else can we use?"

"We're going to need some muscle," Illyana decided. "Who do you think we can get? What about Captain Marvel?"

"On sabbatical since the Rock of Eternity was destroyed," Chloe reminded her. "What about the Hulk?"

"Too cranky," Illyana disagreed. "Besides, green and purple clash with my uniform."

"What about Superman?" Dumbledore mentioned. Both of the women looked at him.

"He'd be good," Chloe agreed. "But I thought he left Earth years ago."

"He's been back for some time," Dumbledore said. Potter nodded as well.

"Well, in that case, he's in, if he'll join us," Chloe said. "Who else?"

Illyana had been thinking. "It might be a good idea to see if Stephen wants to go with us. With any luck, we might be able to get the Eye back for him."

"Excuse me," Hermione broke in, curiously. "But what's this'Eye' you're talking about? Is it the Eye of Agamotto?"

"Yes," Illyana nodded. "It's the main talisman of Stephen's power as Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Clea stole it from him, somehow, and spirited it away to her Dark Dimension, robbing him of the title of Sorcerer Supreme and usurping the position for herself. Stephen, for some reason, is still in love with Clea — he can't bring himself to battle her for his rightful possession of the Eye. Maybe, however, once he realizes what she's been up to with Harry, he might reconsider that."

Dr. Strange was summoned to Professor Potter's office. He listened silently while Illyana and Chloe briefed him on the situation with Harry, Clea and the Dark Dimension, his expression giving no hints as to what he was thinking. When they finished, he said, "It will be a dangerous undertaking — Clea's desire to remain Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension is almost as great as Dormammu's desire to wrest it from her — it borders obsession for both of them. If I had seen that sooner…"

"Our primary objective will be to rescue Harry," Chloe said. "But if we get a chance at the Eye, I'm inclined to get it back from her. She should never have taken it from you in the first place."

"Perhaps," Strange said, and a look of — reluctance? — regret? — crossed his features. "I understand her motives, I suppose."

"You don't want to fight her for the Eye, do you?" Illyana asked, sounding disappointed. Strange looked at her but made no reply.

"It's okay," she went on. "Chloe or I can handle her."

"Not in her home dimension," Strange shook his head. "Unless — in my Sanctum, in New York City, are the other artifacts of Agamotto — the Orb and my Cloak of Levitation. The enchantments I created to protect them requires the Eye to remove them, so I have not been able to get to them since Clea took —" he cut off his remark.

"Okay, here's the plan, then," Chloe decided. "Illyana, you and Stephen go to New York — you think you can get through those enchantments?"

"Piece of cake," Illyana purred, giving Stephen a wink.

"Okay. I'll find Superman and see if he'll join us," Chloe finished.

"How will you be able to find Superman?" Dumbledore wanted to know. "Do you know where he is right now?"

"Well," Chloe said, with a wry smile. "It's my _fate_ to know such things." Reaching into the small handbag she carried, she drew out a gleaming gold helmet that was much larger than the bag that had contained it — obviously wizard space was involved.

Holding it in both hands, Chloe stared intently at the back of the helmet. Suddenly the back spread open, bathing her face in dazzling golden light. She slipped her face into the helmet and it closed, encasing her head. Her entire body began to glow white, and her street clothes were replaced with a gold and blue uniform. Chloe Sullivan was gone, and in her place was — Doctor Fate!

"Don't worry," she said to Dumbledore. Her voice, though altered inside the helmet, was still similar to her own. "I'll be able to find Superman — I know right where he is." She turned to Illyana. "See you in New York, at Stephen's Sanctum." She disappeared in a flash of white light.

Illyana looked at Dr. Strange. "You ready?"

Strange nodded. "I am, Miss Rasputin." She nodded, assuming a look of concentration.

"Wait!" Hermione said, before they could disappear or something. "What can the three of us do?" She indicated Ron, Ginny and herself.

"I don't think there's anything you can do for now, Miss Granger," Professor Potter told her. "You should probably go back to your classes." Ginny, Ron and Hermione all looked at one another, frowning; none of them particularly liked that plan.

"I would not dismiss them so quickly, Phineas," Dumbledore spoke up. "They may be able to provide emotional support for Harry when the others locate him, if a line of communication can be kept open between us and the Dark Dimension." He looked at Illyana. "Is such a thing possible?"

Illyana considered for a moment. "I suppose Chloe or Dr. Strange could establish a telepathic link with you, and include them in it if needed. And it might be useful, especially if Harry seems reluctant to return. It's possible he's experienced months or years of time over there, and he may have become assimilated into the cult of Clea's followers." At the look of horror on Ginny's face, she quickly added. "I'm not saying that's what happened — only that Clea's had an unknown amount of time to manipulate his feelings."

She stepped next to Dr. Strange. "Okay, Doc, let's move." A glowing white disc suddenly appeared beneath the two of them, and in a flash they had vanished as well.

"My word," Professor Potter said, his voice filled with wonder. "I never would have expected that of those two young ladies! Here I thought they were just a couple of normal witches!"

"The world is full of surprises," Dumbledore mused. Potter gave him a sharp look.

"Indeed it is, Albus! How did you know that Superman had returned to Earth? I thought —" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and the Professor did not complete his statement.

"I do try to keep abreast of current events, Phineas," Dumbledore answered, somewhat cryptically, and allowed the twinkle in his eyes to speak for him.

After a moment Potter chuckled as well. "Very well, old friend," he said, clapping Dumbledore on the shoulder. "We'll leave it at that." Hermione, Ron and Ginny stared at them, trying to fathom what they were implying, but failing.

"Well," Potter said, looking around the room at the others. "I suspect we should make ourselves comfortable, and await the outcome of this adventure. With any luck, Harry Potter will be joining us again shortly."

"I certainly hope so," Ron said. "I can't wait to find out how his date with Clea went. Ow!" he added, as Ginny slugged him in the arm.


	17. Into the Dark Dimension

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Seventeen  
****Into the Dark Dimension**

_Updated April 29, 2011_

_**Author's Note**__: Sorry for the long delay, I was on "vacation" for a while — actually, I had double bypass surgery in March and have been convalescing since then. After two monhs, I figured it was time to get back in the swing of writing this fan fiction. Now, on with our tale…_

Clark sat back in his chair, patting his rippling stomach muscles contentedly. "Mom, that dinner was wonderful, as always. Thanks for making it."

Martha Kent smiled. "You should thank Kara — she made it."

Clark looked at his cousin in mild surprise. "_You_ made it, Kara? I'm impressed! You're really getting into the swing of things here on the old farm."

Kara was beaming at the compliment offered by her cousin. "It is rather interesting, preparing food manually instead of having the autosystem do it. Martha gave me a lot of pointer on how you liked your pot roast — was everything okay?"

"It was wonderful," Clark said again. "I probably shouldn't admit this, but until you told me, I thought it _was_ Mom's pot roast!"

"Oh dear," Martha said, in mock horror. "I've been replaced!"

Both Clark and Kara laughed. "Don't be silly, Mom, nobody can replace you," Clark told her, and she smiled lovingly at him. "And," Clark added, standing and dropping his napkin on the table. "Nobody's going to replace those rotted planks in the north fence if I don't — so I'd better get back out there and finish the job."

"Can I come with you?" Kara asked. "I'd like to see how that's done."

"Fine with me," Clark agreed. He glanced at the table. "Of course, we should probably clear the table so Mom won't have to —" a moment later the table was suddenly cleared as Kara collected all the dishes and silverware at super-speed, placed them in the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet to begin filling it, then wrapped up the leftovers and placed them in the refrigerator.

"There," Kara said. "I'll have the dishes cleaned and put away in a few more seconds, as soon as the water fills the sink."

"I'll do the dishes," Martha said, waving away Kara's protest to the contrary. "Oh please, dear — I already feel like a stranger in my own kitchen, what with you doing all the cooking and cleaning up today."

A short time later Clark and Kara were in the northernmost field in the Kent farm, examining the wooden fence that bordered it and an old country road that saw no more than a car or two pass by every week or so. Clark was pointing out several boards and a couple of posts that would need replacing.

For most farmers this was nearly an everyday chore, but it had been some time since Clark had been out to check this section of the farm — the fence badly needed repair. "It doesn't look too difficult," Kara observed. She looked at the materials they'd brought along — several square posts, four-by-fours, a number of long two-by-sixes, and a box of 1½" fence nails. "I don't see a hammer, though."

"My dad and I used to go out at least once per week and work on different sections of the fence around the farm," Clark said. He was pulling boards to be replaced off the fence in various sections, tossing the wood planks into a neat pile a dozen yards away with casual flicks of his wrist. "When I was little, I just came along to watch, but I wanted to help, too. Dad was going to let me hammer in a few nails, but before he could hand me the hammer, I'd just pushed the nail in with my finger." Kara smiled.

"I didn't think we really needed a hammer," she said. She pointed to the post she was standing next to. "May I?" When Clark nodded, she reached out and grasped the wooden post, pulling it out of ground and throwing it onto the pile of old wood as well. "This is kind of fun!"

Clark grinned. "You might not say that if you were out here every day fixing fences," he said. He looked around, estimating how much more fence there was to repair before the winter snows started. "I probably shouldn't have let myself get distracted with all of that magical stuff," he muttered, half to himself. "I've let things go around here."

Kara was watching him curiously. "How else were you going to learn about magic, Kal? I mean, I don't understand it — even though there were rumors that such arcane arts were practiced on Krypton in the past — but it's an ability that you have and should understand. Just like you said you told Harry Potter, he had to learn how to use his Kryptonian abilities once he acquired them from you."

"That's different," Clark objected. "It's easy to understand and control super-abilities —"

"Yeah," Kara smirked. "Says the guy who's had them all his life. It's a little different when you wake up one day and find out you can bend steel bars like putty and fly into space under your own power!" She watched as Clark took a four-by-four and pushed it into the ground where they'd removed the old post, then took a two-by-six and fitted it in place, shaving off the ends with his heat vision focused to razor-thinness, then fixed it in place by thumbing several nails through the wood. "See? You do that like it was nothing."

"I've done it most of my life," Clark pointed out. But he knew what she meant. It had taken Harry a couple of weeks to become used to his powers, back when he first got them. "You seem to be coming along pretty well with your powers," he told her.

"Well, I had the benefit of watching you all those years, through the Kryptonian probes," she reminded him. "Plus, your mom was pretty patient with me — I did break a few glasses and plates at first, and I bit off the tines of a fork once…"

Clark chuckled. "She told me I did that all the time when I was little."

Kara smiled mischievously. "I'll bet Martha's happy she never had to breast-feed you."

"Kara!" Clark was a little shocked by her comment. "I never hurt anyone with my superpowers like that, especially not my parents!"

"I know, I know," Kara quickly agreed, to mollify him. "I was just teasing."

Neither of them spoke again right away. Kara watched as Clark set the final posts in place and affixed boards across them, repairing that section of the fence. After a minute or so she asked, "When are you going back to that school?"

"I don't know." Clark stepped back to examine his handiwork. "There isn't that much more I can do there — I've read just about every book in the Library there, about every type of magic imaginable. There's really nothing left for me to do there."

"So you can do magic, like wizards can?" Kara asked. Clark had told her all about his "accident" with Harry, of course, explaining why he was at the school in the first place. Clark nodded.

"So what can you do?" Kara wanted to know. "Are you as powerful as, say, Doctor Strange?"

Clark raised an eyebrow at her. "How do you know about him?" he asked.

"Hello?" she said, looking at him as if that should be obvious. "Kryptonian probes — duh! You weren't the _only_ thing we watched in Arco City, Kal!"

"I only meant that he's not really a public figure," Clark replied, mildly. "_I'd_ never heard of him before going to the Academy."

"But your friend Lana's uncle Phineas had," Kara told him. "Strange visited him a few times before his wife died and he disappeared. My father was fascinated with the idea of magic — I think he had some idea it could help us save Arco City, if we could just figure how to generate and control it."

"It's possible," Clark pondered the idea. "But everything I've seen about Kryptonian technology suggests that it's already advanced enough to be considered 'magic' by Earth-technology standards."

"Oh, no doubt," Kara agreed. "With Kryptonian technology, either one of us could conceivably rule this entire planet, if we wanted to."

"I know," Clark nodded, soberly. "Believe me, it's occurred to me, and I'm sure more than one government has worried whether someday I'll summarily take them over, or even subjugate the entire planet."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Kara asked.

Clark looked startled by the question. "Why would you even _ask_ such a thing, Kara?"

"Well, look at how Krypton was governed," Kara pointed out. "The Science Council was the primary ruling body on the planet, and the Council of Elders was its inner circle, with the Eldest holding the final say on all important matters. It's pretty much the same thing as having an absolute dictator, however benevolent he or she might be."

"Jor-El warned me about such things," Clark remembered, "but only indirectly. He told me I must not interfere in human history…" his voice trailed off.

Kara caught the change in her cousin's demeanor. "…Did you?"

Clark looked at her a long moment, then nodded slowly. "I — I went back and saved someone who had died, before it happened."

"So you _saved_ them," Kara said. "What's wrong with _that_?"

"I don't know — nothing, I hope," Clark said. "But I don't know what _might_ have happened, because of it. It was almost too easy a fix — anytime something bad happens, I could just fly back in time and stop it before it ever happens."

Kara was silent, considering this. "I see what you mean," she said at last. "That's a lot of opportunities to set up time travel paradoxes."  
"Yes," Clark agreed. "I've only done it once, though." He gave the fence a final once-over. "I think we're done here, we can go to the next section —"

A shimmering glow behind them made both Clark and Kara turn. Floating in the air next to them was a blue-and-gold uniformed figure wearing a golden helmet that covered his (or rather _her_ — the figure was noticeably female) features.

"Superman," the figure intoned. "You are needed."

"Superman?" Clark said, though he was pretty sure his attempt to protect his identity was going to fail. "I — I don't know what you mean —"

"There is no time to discuss your true identity, Clark Kent," the figure said. "Dr. Fate calls on you to help save your friend Harry Potter, trapped in the Dark Dimension by its Sorcerer Supreme, Clea."

"Harry's in trouble?" Both Clark and Kara spoke at the same time. Clark glanced at her, then asked, "How did this happen?"

"There is no time," Fate said once again. "Dr. Strange and others await our return. Will you help us rescue him?"

"Of course," Clark said immediately.

"Me, too!" Kara added

"No," Clark shook his head. "This could be dangerous." Kara looked outraged.

"Kal, I can protect myself!" she said, hotly. "And you can use another hand! Right?" she said to Fate, who made no reply.

"You're staying here and that settles it," Clark said, his voice ringing with authority. Kara crossed her arms and looked stubborn.

"Just a moment," Clark said to Fate, reaching to take off his glasses. He spun, and a moment later he was dressed in his familiar red-and-blue uniform. "Tell Mom I'll be back soon," he said to Kara. "Don't tell her where I'm going, though — she worries, you know. I'll see you soon." He nodded to Fate, and the two of them soared off into the east.

"Sooner than you think," Kara muttered to herself. A moment later she was back in her room at the Kent farm, rummaging quickly through her closet. _Try and keep me from helping, will he_? She thought defiantly, as she compared a dozen or so outfit combinations before settling on a white short-sleeve blouse with a V-cut neckline and a deep blue skirt that just topped her knees. She looped a gold belt around the skirt, similar to the one Superman wore on his uniform, and slipped a red cape around her neck, finally donning a pair of red boots. _Now_ she was ready for some action!

But time was wasting — she'd already lost ten seconds on Clark and that Fate person. Kara shot out of her bedroom window, heading east in the same direction she'd seen the pair fly off toward. If they were flying a straight-line course, she calculated, they would be heading toward New York City. Fate had said Dr. Strange was waiting for them — Kara could deduce that they were heading for his Sanctum. Now she was grateful she'd watched all the recordings the Kryptonian probes had sent back from Earth — she could recall Professor Potter visiting there once or twice. She should be able to infer the location of the Sanctum from her perfect recall of details from the probe images, if she could find its general vicinity

Hopefully.

In the meantime, Superman and Fate had reached New York and were approaching the three-story building that was Strange's Sanctum. Landing at the front door, the two costumed figures stood there for several seconds before Superman asked, "How do we get in?"

In response, Fate reached up with a golden-gloved fist and knocked three times on the door. A few moments later the door opens, and a bald Oriental man nodded to them in greeting. "Welcome," he said, gesturing them inside. "We have been waiting for you."

Superman and Fate found themselves standing in a foyer with Dr. Strange and Illyana Rasputin. "What's this about Harry being kidnapped into the Dark Dimension?" he asked, without preamble.

"How do you know Harry Potter, Superman?" Illyana asked, curiously. "You usually don't have much dealings with magic, do you?"

"That's not important right now," Superman said, trying to keep focus on the matter at hand. "Dr. Fate has asked for my help and I'm here to do so in any way I can."

Illyana rolled her eyes. "Of course she did."

_What was _that_ supposed to mean_? Superman wondered to himself, but Dr. Strange had begun speaking. "Our first task is retrieve the Orb of Agamotto from my Sanctum Sanctorum. It will allow us to bridge the interdimensional gap between Earth and the Dark Dimension, and will help me locate the Eye of Agamotto — which, I suspect, Clea is keeping on or near her person."

"Sounds simple enough," Superman agreed. "But what's the plan for finding Harry?"

"That may be more difficult," Strange replied. "The Dark Dimension is a fractal universe — it has many pocket dimensions; Harry could be hidden in any of them, even in dimensions hidden inside other dimensions. It depends on how securely Clea wants to hold him."

"But for what purpose?" Superman wanted to know. "Why would she kidnap Harry in the first place?"

Strange shook his head. "I am not sure, but Clea is obsessed with keeping control of the Dark Dimension out of the hands of Dormammu — she may be using him toward that end."

"Who is Dormammu?" Superman asked.

"The former Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension," Strange answered. "He and I have had encounters in the past. He has tried to take over the Earth dimension several times, but I managed to hold him at bay, sometimes with Clea's help. Eventually we drove Dormammu out of the Dark Dimension, and Clea received the Flames of Regency denoting her as Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension.

"However, in her obsession to keep control of her home universe, she decided to steal the artifacts of Agamotto, the member of the Vishanti that was Earth's first Sorcerer Supreme, from me. However, she only succeeded in taking the Eye with her back to the Dark Dimension."

"And we should have gone there and taken it back from her!" Illyana chimed in, heatedly.

Strange shook his head slowly. "That's not what I wanted, Illyana."

"I _know_," Illyana snorted. "But you've been wallowing in your self-imposed misery ever since she left you, unable to say or do anything against her."

Fate put up a hand. "Now is not the time for recriminations, Illyana."

"_Fine_," Illyana snapped, throwing up her hands in resignation. "So let's figure out what we're going to do and _do_ it!"

"Where is this 'Orb of Agamotto?'" Superman wanted to know. "Is it here?"

"Yes," Strange told him. "It's on the third floor, in my Sanctum Sanctorum. However, as I was about to explain to Miss Rasputin, there are certain safeguard on it that I set in place using the Eye of Agamotto, before Clea stole it from me. It may be difficult to retrieve it."

"Depends," Illyana said. "I can probably 'port in and get it —"

"I will retrieve it," Fate said.

Illyana folded her arms. "Fine by me, Blondie," she said, a bit huffily.

"Are you sure —" Strange started to say, but Fate disappeared in a flash of white light, returning a few moments later holding the orb in her gloved hands. "Well, I suppose you are," Strange finished, a bit sheepishly. He held out his hand and the Orb floated from Dr. Fate to him. Strange held it in both hands; it seemed to give him strength, as he now stood taller, and there was new confidence on his features, which until now had seemed haggard and beaten down.

"Okay, now what?" Superman asked. "How do we get to this 'Dark Dimension?'"

"The Orb can transport us all there," Strange said, his voice now strong and measured. "However, we may wish to approach the Dark Dimension carefully; Clea must expect we would discover Harry's disappearance sooner or later, and attempt a rescue —" He stopped as there was a sudden knock on the door.

"Who could that be?" Strange muttered, frowning. Superman glanced at the door, but his X-ray vision would not penetrate it. It was not lead-lined, he knew, but rather had been magically shielded so that he was prevented from seeing through the wood. Strange turned the Orb toward the door, looking a bit perplexed, then nodded to Wong, who stepped over to the door and opened it, revealing a blonde-haired young girl dressed in a makeshift uniform that vaguely resembled Superman's.

"Kara!" Superman said, giving her a stern look. "I thought I said —"

"I know what you said, _Superman_," she retorted, before he could chastise her further. She stepped inside as Wong held the door for her, looking at her cousin defiantly. "But I'm old enough to make my own decisions about things. I can take care of myself. And call me Supergirl, please."

"Supergirl?" Illyana said, looking at the Man of Steel then at the new arrival. "First Superman returns, now we have his female counterpart on Earth as well. We're going to be crawling with Kryptonians before long!"

Kara gave Illyana an even look. "Not likely — everyone else I escaped from Krypton's explosion with died when my parents sent me here to Earth. Superman and I are the only two survivors of Krypton's destruction."

"Hey," Illyana made a placating gesture. "Don't get me wrong — I'm glad to see another female superhero!"

Superman shook his head. "But she's _not_ a superhero!" When Kara, Illyana and Dr. Fate all looked at him, he quickly added, "at least, not yet!"

"Well _when_, then?" Kara snapped, exasperated.

"No time like the present," Illyana said, smiling mischievously. "We can use all the help we can get, Supes."

It was difficult to tell whether Superman was more peeved at being overridden or being called "Supes." "I just think it's too soon for you," he said to Kara.

"I can take care of myself," she said again.

Superman looked back at the door, then at Kara again. "How did you find us, anyway?"

Kara tapped her ear. "Super-hearing. I guessed you and Fate were heading for New York, and once I got here I listened for the sound of your voice. Fortunately for me you were a little more talkative than usual, so I found you all pretty fast."

"We should return to the matter at hand," Dr. Fate spoke up. "The rescue of Harry Potter from the Dark Dimension."

"Agreed," Dr. Strange nodded. "I have been thinking, and I believe Clea would have kept Harry as close to her as she could. He is therefore very likely in the Royal Palace, at the Dark Dimension's 'center.'"

Kara caught the emphasis on Strange's final word. "You say that like you don't really think there's a center," she said.

"The Dark Dimension is a very fluid reality," Strange expanded on his statement. "Clea, as its Sorcerer Supreme, has nearly total control over it, and she may allow different regions of it to merge or become indistinct. Once she senses our presence there, she may attempt to close off any access to the Palace.

"Once we reach it, we still must locate Harry within in. There will be powerful wards protecting him, and numerous defenders who will see us as invading monsters — Clea can control her subjects' perceptions. There is no telling who — or what — we will encounter while trying to find Harry."

"What kind of place is the Dark Dimension?" Superman asked. "What can we expect in the way of obstacles, once we reach it?"

"When I was there last," Strange replied, "it was a pastoral place, filled with rolling hills and small villages surrounding Clea's palace. When Dormammu was in control, it was mostly a barren wasteland, cold and uninviting. Dormammu kept an iron hand on his subjects, whom he considered his chattel. Clea wanted to change that, which was why she eventually took control from Dormammu, with my help."

"We should make preparations and begin as soon as possible," Fate said. "I believe we will need protection from detection by Clea — I can provide wards that will shield us from her, at least for a while. Unfortunately the protection will weaken the further apart we get from one another, and we must do that in order to search for Harry."

"I can have us arrive a short distance from the palace," Strange said, hefting the Orb. "Or at least, from where I remember it being, in relation to the Dark Dimension overall. Clea may have rearranged things since my last sojourn there."

"_This_ should be interesting!" Kara said enthusiastically.

"Kara, I really don't think you're ready for this," Superman said, trying to sound stern. "You're only fifteen years old!"

"Oh, come on, Superman!" Illyana snorted. "You should have seen what I was up to when _I_ was fifteen!"

"I couldn't imagine," Superman said, flatly. He remembered Illyana Rasputin from the Academy, but could hardly fathom what the demure blonde must have been like in her youth. She knew a lot of magic, of that Clark was certain. But — "Kara isn't you, however."

"If I understand correctly, Superman," Dr. Fate spoke, "Kara has the same abilities you do."

"Yes," Superman agreed, reluctantly, seeing where Fate was going. "But she has very little experience using them."

"And she will never obtain experience unless you allow her use her powers," Fate continued. "While this is a dangerous mission, the four of us should be able to assist her if Kara finds herself at a disadvantage."

"I —" Superman looked around at the faces staring at him: Kara, her expression a mixture of pleading and defiance; Illyana, a small grin on her lips, as if she expected him to cave in, and Fate's implacable mask. Dr. Strange was watching, his face expressionless, as if he didn't want to be part of the Man of Steel's decision. Superman sighed. "I may regret this, but —"

"Yes!" Supergirl made a gesture of victory, then quickly hugged her older cousin. "Thanks, Kal! Don't worry, I'll be careful." Clark smiled ruefully at her.

"All right, then," Illyana said. "In and out as quick as we can after finding Harry — and with any luck, the Eye, too," she added, looking at Strange. "Otherwise, Clea might just decide to try this again at some point."

"How are we actually going to _find_ Harry?" Kara asked, looking at Illyana. "From what Dr. Strange has said, it will be like finding a needle in a field full of haystacks."

Illyana laughed. "Interesting analogy. Did you grow up on a farm?"

"No," Kara replied, coolly, "on a space arcology — but I currently live on —"

"All right, enough banter," Superman interrupted. He looked at Strange. "It's a valid question, though."

It was Fate who answered, however. "Yes, it is. I will begin searching for Harry once we arrive there, as will Dr. Strange, each of us using our individual talents. Superman, you and Supergirl will provide any defensive actions needed, and Illyana —"

"Call me _Magik_," Illyana said. "I haven't used that name for a while."

Fate paused for a moment, then gave a small shrug. "Magik, you will be prepared to retrieve Harry from whatever constraints he may be under. If he's been charmed over to Clea's cause, we will restrain him and return to Earth. The spells should be easier to counter there, away from Clea's home dimension."

Fate put a gloved hand to the side of her helmet. "I will maintain mental contact with Professor Potter, back at the Academy. If Professor Dumbledore is still there he will be able to keep him apprised of the situation as we search for Harry. All of you will also hear my and the professor's thoughts, and will be able to communicate with him as well." _Professor Potter, can you hear me_? Fate sent a mental message to the professor.

_Oh my — yes, I can_! came Potter's mental reply, after a few seconds. _I must say, you rather startled me just now, with this telepathy business_! _Are you in the Dark Dimension yet_?

_Dr. Strange is about to transport us there_, Fate answered. Superman was frowning slightly. Now that he could hear Dr. Fate's "voice" in his head, unaltered by her helmet, it sounded familiar to him, somehow. But now was not the time to worry about it — Strange was beginning the spell that would take them to the Dark Dimension.

Strange was muttering verses over the Orb. Though Clark could hear him clearly, he'd never heard the words the sorcerer was using before, not in all of the books he'd read in the past few months at the Academy. The air was beginning to shimmer around them, then everything seemed to swirl, surrounding them in a protective bubble.

Lights began to flash outside the bubble, and there was the sound and sensation of wind rushing past them, beginning to spin them along with the swirling lights. _This was certainly unlike teleporting_! Clark thought, distractedly, as the light and winds suddenly vanished, leaving them —

"Oh my Rao!" Kara exclaimed, looking around. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!"

"Funny," Magik said, dryly. "We're about as far from Kansas, or _anywhere_ on Earth, as it's possible to be."

The five had arrived, not in a pastoral field or valley, but in the middle of a cobbled street, with dark, foreboding buildings rising up around them. It reminded Clark of some of the seamier sections of Metropolis, like "Suicide Slum" — the buildings were all old and ill-maintained; the architecture, however, was more gothic, resembling Gotham City. "What happened?" Superman asked, looking around. "Where are we?"

"This _is_ the Dark Dimension," Dr. Strange confirmed. "But Clea must have anticipated our arrival — she has altered the landscape in order to disorient us."

"So, no biggie," Illyana said, dismissively. "We should be able to find Harry no matter _what_ the place looks like, shouldn't we?"

"Of course," Strange agreed. "But it may be difficult to locate her palace in this altered configuration — it may not even be a palace anymore."

"I will begin searching for Harry's magical aura," Dr. Fate said. "It is — nearly unique."

Superman glanced at Fate, bemused by the phrase she'd used. _What did she mean, _nearly_ unique_? he wondered. But the situation at hand was still his primary concern. "What do you want us to do?" he asked.

"Remain on guard," Fate said, extending her arms in front of herself. "There may be guards or other defenders about, ready to attack intruders." Fate rose a dozen feet in the air, spinning slowly as she searched for Harry's magical aura. On the ground, Dr. Strange was using the Orb to perform the same search. Superman, Supergirl, and Magik formed a protective triangle around Strange.

After a minute or so of silence, Kara asked, "Find him yet?"

Fate did not answer. "It…is…difficult," Strange said, distracted from his intense mental concentration. "The Orb can sense him, but it is unable to pinpoint his precise location. Fate," he looked upwards. "How fares your efforts?"

"Similar," Fate responded, but said no more.

A figure suddenly swooped down from the rooftop of a nearby building, swinging from a thin cord. It landed some yards away from Superman, who at first thought he recognized the gray-and-black uniform.

"Batman!" he said, surprised to see his ally and sometimes friend against crime. "What are you —"

But as the figure stepped closer, Superman realized that it was _not_ Batman — but some horrific version of him: its skin was gray and mottled, as if it were the walking dead. Startled, Superman did not react when the creature reached into its belt and flung several marble-sized objects at them. Superman recovered, reaching out at super-speed to snatch several of the spheres, and letting the rest hit his body.

Which was a mistake. The spheres exploded, knocking Superman down. Worse, the ones in his hands exploded as well — Superman gasped in pain as the explosions burned and lacerated his hands. He looked at them in shock. Even as he watched, however, his super-healing ability sealed the gashes and the skin became normal again. But _how_ could it have hurt him, though — even as the question crossed his mind, Superman realized the answer — magic! "Careful," Superman said, glancing at Kara. "It's using magic against us!"

But this gave the Bat-creature opportunity to close the gap between them. Instead of going for Superman, however, it attempted to sidestep him to reach Dr. Strange. Superman reached out and grabbed the creature's arm, stopping him, but a moment later the creature had slid beneath him and tossed Superman over his shoulder. Hitting the cobbled street and rolling quickly to his feet, Superman reminded himself that he should never underestimate the Batman, especially not a magical zombie version of him!

Supergirl had closed on the creature, pinning his arms from behind. The creature began struggling wildly in her grip, its head spinning almost completely around to try and bite her. She held it at arm's length and shouted, "What do I do with it?"

"I've got him," Illyana said, stepping in front them. "Let go!" As Kara released the creature, a glowing circle of white light appeared beneath her and the creature. They both vanished. Illyana reappeared a moment later in the same spot.

"I left the thing in Otherplace," she replied to Kara's questioning look. "Don't ask — it's a long story."

"I've got —" Kara stopped, looking around and grinning. "Well I guess we _don't_ have time, at the moment."

"Uh-oh," Superman said. Another denizen of the Dark Dimension had appeared: a huge, overly-muscled gray skinned behemoth that was roaring with rage as it thundered toward them. It looked like a zombie as well, though it stood eight feet in height and must've massed over half a ton. "This one looks like trouble!"

Nevertheless, the Man of Steel surged forward to meet the attack. With his speed, he simply avoided the huge humanoid's swing, smashing his fist into the giant's jaw hard enough to stun an elephant.

The giant stopped in its tracks, looking at Superman first in surprise, then anger. "Hulk smash puny blue man!" he roared, and swung again. Again, Superman dodged the blow, driving his fist into the Hulk's stomach with twice the force of his first blow. But the Hulk merely grunted and swung a massive fist downward, one that Superman did not dodge in time. The blow staggered him, and the Hulk pressed his attack, grabbing Superman in a bear hug and squeezing.

In response Superman boxed his ears. The Hulk roared, in rage more than in pain, and grabbed his ears, releasing Superman. Superman was about to strike once again when a blue-and-white blur whizzed past him, slamming into the Hulk's middle and knocking him high into the black sky and out of sight.

It was Supergirl, of course, who had stepped in (or rather, flew in) and ended the fight. "Pretty cool, huh?" she said, raising her arms in victory. "Ooh!" she said, suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Superman asked, concerned.

"I don't know," she said, looking at her arms and hands. "My arms really took a jolt when I hit that thing. I mean — they _hurt_!" She looked up at Superman. "They aren't supposed to _do_ that any more, are they?"

"No," Superman shook his head. "Unless —" He looked up into the black sky. "We're no longer on Earth, and no longer under a yellow sun. Our bodies are no longer absorbing yellow solar radiation."

"But we're still _super_!" Kara protested.

"Only because of the reserves of energy we've already absorbed," Superman said. "We're going to have to use our powers as sparingly as possible here, before they are depleted and we become normal and can't defend the others."

"Wow," Kara said. "So much for an easy first adventure!"

=ooo=

In his room, Harry could tell that something was amiss. He could hear the faint sound of shouted orders from the men-at-arms of the Palace, warning each other of danger coming this way. The Palace also _felt_ different, somehow — Harry could sense additional magic all around him. Clea must have shored up her defenses.

The question was — from whom? If it was Dormammu, then this was the moment Clea been holding him here for the past two years. Were they ready to take on a being as powerful as "he" (Clea had said that Dormammu's original form was genderless) was supposed to be? Harry knew a _lot_ more magic than when he first came here, though still not enough to break through the wards that were keeping him in the Dark Dimension. Despite Clea tricking and kidnapping him to bring him here, keeping him a virtual prisoner all this time, he would not run out on her when she needed him. Besides, he had no way to escape the Dark Dimension, not while Clea possessed both the Flames of Regency _and_ the Eye of Agamotto.

On the other hand… if someone back on Earth had somehow figured out where he was, and was coming to rescue him, Harry would gladly leave, Dormammu or not. He closed his eyes again, sending out scrying magic in an attempt to identify the source of the commotion. There were flashes of red and blue — Clark in his super-suit? Harry certainly hoped so — though he had to admit, he didn't know how Clark could have found this dimension; Clea kept up wards that made it difficult for all but the most adept wizards to break through them and find it. If Clark was here, he must've had help. Perhaps Doctor Strange — Clea had mentioned that when he was Sorcerer Supreme he had made his way to the Dark Dimension in order to find her and stop one of Dormammu's attempts to conquer Earth.

A sudden presence slammed into Harry's magical perceptions, and his eyes jerked open to regard a visibly upset Clea standing before him. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Harry said, a look of bland innocence plastered across his face. "Just resting." In fact he was sitting on his bed, his legs crossed. His arms had been outstretched as he magically searched for another sign of a rescue party. "Is something wrong?"

Clea didn't answer immediately. "There's nothing wrong," she finally said. "Just a small intrusion by some other-dimensional beings who don't know what they're getting into."

"Really?" Harry said, sounding skeptical. "I thought no one could get into the Dark Dimension without your permission."

Clea shrugged indifferently. "I won't have any trouble with them, my subjects are already moving to repel them. They'll be forced back to wherever they came from."

"And where would that be?" Harry asked, pointedly. "Earth?"

Clea stared at him for a moment. "You think your friends would come and rescue you?" she asked, seemingly almost amused at the thought. "You've only been gone a few days back on Earth — do you think anyone's missed you?"

"I think you'd better hope they haven't," Harry retorted. "But yeah — I think they're here right now, and you don't want me to know that. But I've already sensed their presence here." Though that sensation was faint and uncertain, he didn't bother to add.

Clea smiled. "Hope springs eternal, doesn't it?" She made an airy gesture and a moment later they were surrounded by darkness. Annoyed, Harry conjured a small glowing ball of light to illuminate his room once again, but found a moment later that they were no longer there. Instead, a small room, seemingly composed of stone. Harry looked around at the four windowless, doorless walls then back at Clea.

"You might call this a 'safe room' back on Earth," Clea said, answering his unasked question. "I don't want anything happening to you before Dormammu comes."

"_If_ he comes," Harry muttered, bitterly.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Clea asked, almost sneering.

"Almost two years now you've been waiting for him!" Harry said hotly, unable to control his frustration any longer. "It's more like, you just want to keep me here until my feelings somehow change for you! Well that's _not_ going to happen, Clea — not in two years, or in two hundred years!"

Clea's expression went flinty. "A shame," she said. "I had hoped you'd warmed up to me by now, or were at least beginning to. But it doesn't matter. You'll stay here and help me when Dormammu attacks, whether it's in two year or two _thousand_ years! Dormammu is immortal — he can afford to bide his time as long as he chooses before he attacks! You might as well relax and enjoy yourself, Harry Potter — you could be here for a long, long time." Before Harry could reply she disappeared.

"Great!" Harry said angrily. He calmed down a few moments later and looked around the room again. Wherever he was now, he could feel a lot more magical defenses around him, keeping intruders out and him _in_. If Clark and others were here in the Dark Dimension, he was going to have to figure out a way to contact them with his location. He just wished he knew who might have come with Clark — it might give him some ideas on how to reach them.

The most obvious guess was Doctor Strange, though Harry believed he had lost the ability to reach the Dark Dimension when Clea took the Eye of Agamotto from him. Perhaps he had a backup way. Harry sat down on the stone floor, composed himself, and began concentrating on finding a way through the safe room's defenses.


	18. Out of the Frying Pan

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Eighteen  
****Out of the Frying Pan**

_Updated May 13, 2011_

At the Academy, Professors Potter and Dumbledore, along with Ron and Hermione, were still waiting anxiously for word from the Dark Dimension as to Harry's whereabouts. Professor Potter sat at his desk, concentrating on his inner thoughts as he waited for Dr. Fate to contact him once again. Nearby, Professor Dumbledore sat placidly in a plush chair he had conjured up, fingers steepled before him. Hermione was sitting quietly as well. Ron, however, had been pacing up and down the professor's study for some time, glancing over every so often to see if Professor Potter was getting anything.

"They've been gone for a long time," Ron said at last, looking at his old headmaster.

Dumbledore nodded. "Several hours, yes, Ron. Dr. Fate mentioned that time may be different in the Dark Dimension than it is here."

"I wonder _how_ different," Hermione said, distractedly. "It must be passing much faster there than here, for them to be taking so long."

Ron frowned. "Harry's been gone four days now — you mean he's going to be more than four days older when he gets back?"

Professor Potter nodded. "Oh my, yes, he will be! Though I am not sure how differently time passes there, he will be older than if he had remained here on Earth. We will have to see just how much older when he returns."

"_If_ he returns," Ron said, darkly.

Hermione looked at him sharply. "Of _course_ he's going to return, Ron!" she said, her voice going shrill. "Don't talk like that!"

"Perhaps," Professor Dumbledore suggested, gently, "you and Mr. Weasley should return to your rooms until Harry returns." He reached into a pocket, glancing at the timepiece he kept there. "Dinner will be served shortly — you should both keep up your strength."

Ron stood stock-still for several moments, looking as if he was weighing the idea of refusing to leave Professor Potter's study, but Hermione nodded and rose to her feet. "We will, Professor. Come on, Ron."

Ron followed her out of the room. After a moment, Dumbledore sighed to himself and put his watch away. "Any word yet, Phineas?" he asked.

Professor Potter shook his head slightly. "Not a whisper, Albus." He gave the Hogwarts headmaster a look of concern. "I wish I knew why she wasn't contacting us anymore!"

"The situation there may not allow them the latitude of communicating with us at the moment, especially if they have to deal with this Clea person."

"Yes," Professor Potter sighed gustily. "I wish I had seen more clearly what her plans for Harry had been," he muttered.

"Divination?" Dumbledore asked. Potter nodded. "You may consider, Phineas, that understanding how people think and what motivates them will help you anticipate their actions better than reliance on magic, especially magic that deals with future events."

Potter smiled slightly. "Perhaps, but I'm not very good at that sort of thing."

"Oh, pish and tosh," Dumbledore retorted. "You're old enough to have learned a _few_ things about human nature, Phineas."

Potter shrugged. "I suppose so, Albus. But you were always better at such thing than I."

There was a scratching at the window, and both men looked around to see an owl on the outside windowsill. Potter looked at Dumbledore, then made a gesture toward the window, causing it to open. The owl flew in and landed on the desk in front of the Hogwarts headmaster.

"I wonder what that's about?" Potter asked, as Dumbledore removed a note from the owl's leg, He glanced over the note, smiling to himself. "Albus?"

Dumbledore looked up. "Oh, a matter I must attend to has come up," he answered, casually. "I trust you will be able to maintain your vigil while I take care of this, Phineas." He stood. "I shan't be long."

"Of course, Albus," Potter nodded. "I will contact you if the rescue team returns before you do." Dumbledore smiled and vanished.

Dumbledore reappeared several hundred miles to the east a moment later, in front of an office building in Chicago. He glanced once again at the note still in his hand.

* * *

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_It's about time you and I met. Come to 1500 South Plaza, room 502. I would like to discuss a matter of some importance with you._

_L. Luthor_

* * *

The address on the building was the same as the note. Dumbledore entered the building's foyer, which appeared grimy and badly maintained, and looked around for a stairwell. He noticed the elevators and, smiling to himself, entered one and pushed the button marked "5," reasoning that in America, room 502 would be on the fifth floor. The elevator ascended jerkily to the fifth floor.

Dumbledore stepped into the fifth floor corridor, looking around for room 502, which turned out to be directly across from the elevator. He approached it and knocked on the door. "Come in, Professor," a voice on the other side said.

Dumbledore walked into the room, finding himself in a small office with another door leading to another room. Near the door was a desk and chain, apparently empty. Dumbledore smiled and continued on, stopping in the doorway to regard the bald man who sat behind a large wooden desk. "You are Mr. Luthor, I presume?"

Luthor nodded. "Yes. Would you like to have a seat?" He indicated a small folding chair in front of his desk. It looked quite out of place in the otherwise elegantly decorated room.

"Thank you," Dumbledore nodded. "However, I prefer something a bit more comfortable." He took out his wand and flicked it, conjuring a plush sitting chair, and settling into it gave Luthor a nod in greeting. "What would you like to discuss?" he asked, without preamble. "Normally, I enjoy observing the amenities of polite conversation, Mr. Luthor, but I am a bit pressed for time today."

"We won't take long, then," Luthor agreed. He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers in a manner reminiscent of Dumbledore's. "I wish to discuss the Philosopher's Stone with you."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "What do you know of the Stone, Mr. Luthor?"

Luthor looked upward, as if recalling details in his mind. "Let's see… a stone or crystal-like substance, reddish in color, that was capable of turning base metals such as lead into gold, and could be used in the distillation of an _elixir vitae_, a potion that rejuvenated the imbiber, making them immortal. Many men, such as Isaac Newton, tried to create one, but only one man succeeded — Nicholas Flamel, sometime in the late 1300's or early 1400's." Luthor smiled; Dumbledore was watching him carefully. "Flamel faked his death in 1418 and has been living in seclusion in various locations around the world since then." Luthor grinned. "How'd I do, Professor?"

"Quite astutely," Dumbledore nodded. "However, since you're aware of those details, I believe you must know the latest news on the Stone as well."

"And that is?" Luthor asked, blandly.

"With the potential return of Lord Voldemort — I assume you've heard of him as well — Nicholas and I determined that the Stone would be too much of a temptation for him or his followers to resist trying to obtain, and so I had it brought to Hogwarts, guarded by a series of obstacles to make it almost impossible to find. Nevertheless, one of Voldemort's followers managed to come perilously close to stealing it. Without the help of a few of our students, he would have done so.

"Afterwards, I recovered the Stone from its hiding place and disposed of it permanently," Dumbledore finished. "Nicholas died last year, just short of his 670th birthday."

"Fascinating," Luthor said. "There's just one problem with all that."

"And what is that?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"I think you're lying."

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked interested by this claim. "Why would I lie?"

"Come now, Professor!" Luthor looked almost hurt by Dumbledore's manner. "A man creates a substance that makes him rich and gives him eternal life, and after _600 years_ he's asked to give it up so some upstart wizard with a thirst for power and immortality won't steal it from him? That's not very believable, Professor!"

"Wizards do not think like men, Mr. Luthor," Dumbledore pointed out. "After 600 years Nicholas and his wife were ready to experience the next phase of life, the one beyond this one. They simply needed a sufficient reason to move onward. Giving up the Stone so that it would not fall into the wrong hands was that reason." Dumbledore looked intently at the other man, though Luthor kept his gaze averted from the wizard's eyes. "What is _your_ reason for wanting the Stone, Lex?"

Luthor smirked. He hadn't mentioned his first name yet; the professor had obviously checked him out before coming here. "Well, let's just say I have a little experiment in mind of my own."

Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "There are some lesser known properties of the Stone. One of them is, it can be used to create a potion that will endow a normal human with magical powers, though the Stone will be consumed in the process."

Luthor shrugged slightly. "I guess I can't put one past you, can I? Yes, that's the reason I want the Stone — to make myself into a wizard."

Dumbledore stood abruptly. "I cannot allow that, Lex. You are much too dangerous, even as a Muggle, for me to allow this conversation to continue." He took out his wand and sent a Stunner at Luthor's chest.

However, before it reached him, Luthor was suddenly a foot to the left of where he'd been. The bolt ricocheted harmlessly off the back wall. Dumbledore adjusted his aim and fired another bolt, but Luthor dodged the second one as effortlessly as he had the first. "You can stop trying to stun me, Professor — I can move faster than any magic you can cast at me."

"Intriguing," Dumbledore said, lowering his wand. "How is this possible?"

In answer, Luthor's face shimmered and become that of Superman. "Polyjuice Potion and a bit of Superman's blood have given me his powers," he said. "I've had a spell on me that made me resemble my original features, to keep you off-guard." Luthor gave a short nod.

"How were you able to obtain such a spell —" even as he asked the question, however, Dumbledore felt a dreamlike lethargy come over him, and his features became slack. Behind him, a small form faded into view — Dedalus Diggle, who had been waiting, invisible, in the front room, for Luthor's signal to use the Imperius Curse on the headmaster.

"Have a seat," Luthor said, and Dumbledore sat slowly down on the chair he'd risen from. "Nice work, Mr. Diggle."

Dedalus smiled at the compliment. "You should be able to ask him anything you want to know, Mr. Luthor."

"So, Professor," Luthor said, addressing Dumbledore once again. "What did you _really_ do with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Dumbledore did not answer. He appeared to be struggling not to speak. "No holding back now," Luthor chided him. "Tell me what you did with it."

"It…" Dumbledore blinked, as if trying to awaken himself, but his face retained its blank, even composure. "It is…safe."

"Ah!" Luthor grinned triumphantly. "So you _didn't_ destroy it after all."

"Such would have been a great loss to the Wizarding world," Dumbledore said, slowly. "I preferred to let everyone, even Harry Potter, who kept Voldemort from obtaining it, think it had been destroyed."

Luthor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What did you do with it?"

In response Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "You _have_ to tell me, Professor," Luthor insisted. "That secret is not something you should burden yourself with."

Dumbledore frowned. "Burden?"

"Yes," Luthor said softly, leaning down to speak into Dumbledore's ear. "Just tell me — I promise no one else will know."

After a moment, Dumbledore spoke. "It — is with Nicholas."

Luthor nodded. So Flamel was still alive as well. "And where is Nicholas?" he purred in Dumbledore's ear.

"He — is in — New York City, in a location known as Greenwich Village," Dumbledore muttered. "He is living in a townhouse there under the name Nathan Fine."

"What's the address?" Luthor wanted to know.

"I only know its location," Dumbledore answered. "It is the third townhouse from the northeast corner of Perry and Blecker Streets."

"Close enough," Luthor said, satisfied he had enough information to find Flamel. He would be paying the old man a visit shortly, before his hour was up and his super powers disappeared. He looked at Diggle. "Bind him and put him to sleep — I'll want to talk to him again, after I get the Stone."

Ropes shot out of Diggle's wand, binding Dumbledore's arms against his body. With another wave of Diggle's wand the professor's head slumped forward. Diggle reached into his robes, pulling out the professor's wand, and sat it on the desk in front of Luthor.

"Watch him carefully," Luthor ordered Diggle, who nodded and watched as Luthor suddenly vanished, moving at super-speed. After a few moments he walked around behind the desk and sat down, putting his legs on the corner, a difficult maneuver for so short a man. He glanced scornfully at the sleeping wizard, then smiled with self-satisfaction and leaned back in the chair.

Several moments later, unnoticed by Diggle, the professor's wand slowly moved of its own accord, until it was pointing at Diggle, who suddenly yawned then dropped off to sleep. Dumbledore opened his eyes, smiling, as the ropes fell away from him. He stood, retrieving his wand, then directed it toward Diggle, who floated into the air and into the chair Dumbledore had just vacated. Reaching into another part of his robes, Dumbledore took out a vial of gray potion, then pulled a few of his hairs free and dropped them in the vial, which promptly turned bright red. He pulled a few hairs from Diggle's head, then fed the potion to Diggle, watching as the man's features changed to match his own. He then dropped the hairs in a second vial and watched as it changed to a puce color, then drank it down. A few moments later, the transformation complete, he now resembled Dedalus Diggle. With a few more flicks of his wand he exchanged their clothing, making the transformation complete. Ropes shot from his wand, retying the transformed Diggle to the chair, and Dumbledore sat down at the desk to await Luthor's return. He hoped things were going well with Harry's rescue.

=ooo=

In the Dark Dimension, Dr. Fate suddenly announced, "He's gone."

Superman gave the masked mystic a sharp look. "What do you mean — _gone_? Is Harry…"

"No." Fates's helmet shook slowly. "His aura has suddenly faded from my perception." They had been moving slowly through the dark, foreboding streets of the altered Dark Dimension, edging closer and closer to Harry's supposed location.

"Perhaps Clea has moved him," Doctor Strange suggested. "She knows we are here."

Fate nodded agreement. "Harry was undoubtedly moved. The question is — to where?"

"We've been at this forever!" Supergirl complained, rubbing a shoulder that still didn't feel right, after she'd slammed both fists into a hulking monstrosity that had threatened Clark.

"No," Superman shook his head. "It's only been a few minutes since we arrived here."

"I thought we'd find him and be done by now," Supergirl continued. "And I can feel my powers beginning to diminish."

Superman felt it too — he was no longer quite as fast or strong as he felt on Earth. The lack of yellow solar radiation was sapping their super-abilities. It must be this way for Harry as well, he realized; by now; only his ability to use magic would still remain with him. "There must be some way for us to locate him," he said, tensely.

"What about the Trace?" Magik asked. "Can't that be used to locate underage wizards like Harry, since it's put on all children in the British Isles?" Superman looked at Strange and Fate hopefully.

"It's worth a try," Fate said. The two sorcerers faced in opposite directions, sending out waves of magic to detect the spell that had been cast on Harry shortly after his birth. But after a minute —

"Nothing," Fate announced. "Either Harry is no longer in the Dark Dimension, which I do not believe, or —"

"The time differential," Strange finished. Fate nodded.

"What's _that_ mean?" Supergirl asked.

"Time is passing differently here than on Earth," Fate explained. "The difference is quite large — I believe something like 180 hours pass on Earth for every hour we spend here. At that rate, Harry would have aged around two years in the four days he's spent here."

"Two _years_?" Supergirl blanched. "And he's had to live through every day of that?"

"Probably so," Strange nodded.

"That means we've got to wrap this up in a hurry," Superman decided. It was too bad that the Trace hadn't worked; but there was something else, something Strange had said about Harry's "aura"—that it was almost unique.

And, he suddenly realized — if that was true for Harry, it could also be true for _him_.

"Maybe there is something we can do," Superman announced, having the others move closer so he could describe it to everyone. "When I first arrived on Earth, Harry and I were in an accident involving kryptonite and a lightning bolt that struck us both when I was in a weakened state. The electrical bolt passing through us somehow transferred some of my super-abilities to Harry."

"What are you thinking, Superman?" Dr. Strange asked.

"Harry has powers similar to mine and Supergirl's — his cellular structure was altered by the accident somehow; it enabled his body to absorb and use yellow solar radiation, just as we do," Superman explained. "I think it should be possible to use my aura to find a similar one, somewhere in the Dark Dimension. _That_ should be Harry."

"Ingenious," Dr. Fate observed.

"It should work," Dr. Strange agreed. "At least, it's worth a try."

=ooo=

With his super-powers, it did not take Lex Luthor long to make the trip from Chicago to New York. He'd been practicing flying — the only thing he needed was a GPS to keep himself on course. He'd punched in the coordinates for Greenwich Village and took to the skies, stopping every hundred miles or so to recheck his bearings, and his watch. He had about 30 minutes left of his hour with super-powers, and he wanted to make every second count.

It took a couple of minutes to locate Perry and Blecker Streets; Luthor then flew down, landing in the shadow of the townhouse, and approached its front door on foot. He used X-ray vision to look through the different rooms of the building, hoping to uncover the Stone before ever entering the place. If he could do that, he could simply go in at super-speed, snatch the rock, and be gone before anyone inside had realized what happened. But Luthor saw nothing that would resemble the Philosopher's Stone, supposedly a red crystalline rock. He _did_ see a single occupant, an old man reading a book on potions. His appearance matched the old drawings of Nicholas Flamel Luthor had seen in various magical history books. It looked like he would have to persuade the man to part with his precious rock.

Inside, the old man was still absorbed in the book when suddenly Luthor was standing beside his easy chair. Luthor softly cleared his throat, and the old man looked up, surprised. "What are you doing in my house?" he asked, his voice sounding brittle and cracked. He nodded toward the door. "If it's money you want, I have none. You may as well leave now."

"It's not money I want, Mr. Fine," Luthor said, leaning over to look in the man's eyes. "I want the Stone?"

The old man's brow furrowed as he frowned. "You want a stone? Check outside — there's thousands of them out there."

"Perhaps," Luthor agreed. "But none of them will do what _your_ Stone will do, will they?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man said, stubbornly.

"Pity," Luthor said, taking the man by his housecoat lapels and hoisting him effortlessly into the air. The man's eyes grew wide with surprise and fear. _Now_ he had the old coot's attention!

"You're Nicholas Flamel," Luthor told him, "and you have the only known Philosopher's Stone. I've already confirmed this with your good friend, Dumbledore — though he didn't give up the information easily, mind you.

"Now, you can hand it over to me, or I can start breaking your limbs, one at a time, until you tell me where it is. It's all up to you."

The old man nodded quickly. "I'll tell, I'll tell you! Let me down, please!" Luthor lowered the man to the floor, and he pointed a shaky finger toward a table with a small wooden box on it. "It's in there," he said.

Luthor turned. "I didn't see that before, when I checked the house with my X-ray vision."

"The box has an enchantment on it that keeps anything from passing through the box. Your X-rays would not penetrate, so it would be invisible, even to your vision powers."

Smiling with anticipation, Luthor approached the table and opened the box, staring at the ruby-red stone inside. "At last," he said softly, then frowned. "Wait a minute — something's not right."

"What do you mean?" the old man asked, sounding fearful. "_That's_ the Stone!"

"It doesn't look right," Luthor said. "The Stone should be translucent, glowing softly red." He shook his head warningly at Flamel. "You shouldn't try to trick me."

"It's _not_ a trick!" the old man insisted. He sighed, looking defeated, then said, "There is a spell on the Stone — a two-part spell that inhibits its magical properties until I and another person perform the counterspell."

"Who's the other person?" Luthor demanded, though he had pretty much already guessed who it was.

"Albus Dumbledore," the old man said, confirming Luthor's guess. "We decided on that method of protecting the Stone in case anyone tried to steal it."

It was a good thing he'd kept Dumbledore alive, Luthor thought. He held out the box with the Stone in it. "Perform your half of the counterspell."

The old man took out a wand and muttered several phrases over the Stone, which became shiny once again but did not start glowing. "The — the rest is up to Dumbledore," he said at last, putting his wand down.

"Fine," Luthor said. He took a potion bottle from his jacket. "Drink this."

The old man looked at it warily. "What — what is it?"

"It's a Draught of Living Death," Luthor said. "One of your wizard friends will doubtlessly come by and wake you up, eventually — but for the time being I don't want you alerting anyone. Bottoms up."

The old man unstoppered the bottle and, after a look at Luthor, drained the contents in three gulps. After only a second he began to feel unsteady and settled back into his chair; then his head fell forward, his hands dropped into his lap, and his breathing slowed to — nothing. Even with super-hearing Luthor could hear no sound of air going in or out of his lungs. His heart was beating very slowly, perhaps once or twice a minute, barely noticeable.

Luthor nodded in satisfaction. "Ta-ta, pleasant dreams," he said, tucking the box under his arm and stepping outside to leap straight upward into the sky and out of sight within seconds.

A minute later, as the old man's sleeping form continued to slump in the chair, not one but _two_ potion vials fell from his hand. His eyelids fluttered, and he slowly sat upright once again. _Muggles_, he thought sneeringly. _Even the "geniuses" aren't too bright_. The second vial, which he'd palmed when Luthor handed him the vial of Living Death to drink, had contained a delayed antidote to the sleeping potion. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Just in time, too! His hour was almost up —

Even as he thought this, the churning sensation that signaled the end of the Polyjuice Potion's effects welled up inside him, and the man grimaced, stoically enduring the painful transformation back to his original sallow-faced features. After several seconds "Nicholas Flamel" had disappeared — in his place was Severus Snape.

Snape picked up the potions book and resumed reading. The rest of this operation would be up to Dumbledore.

=ooo=

In the safe room, Harry had run the gamut of scrying and detection spells, to no avail. Wherever the safe room was — below the Palace, somewhere nearby, or even in its own pocket dimension, Harry could not identify anything around him. Clea had enough wards surrounding the room that even his magical training over the past two years couldn't break through. He could be locked up in here for a long time, depending on Clea's mood — she couldn't be very happy with him right now, given his unflinching rejection of her. Harry felt a shiver run through his body.

What else could he do, though? Clea had pretending to be interested in him, to lure him away from the Academy, then kidnapped him and brought him here to her home, the Dark Dimension. While she claimed to be training him to help her fight Dormammu, her uncle and the previous Sorcerer Supreme of this realm, Harry felt like she was trying to win him over, to make him attracted to her.

She _was_ beautiful, Harry admitted to himself. In the past two years his body had matured, and he'd felt…desires… for female companionship. Clea's breasts were round and firm, her hips voluptuous and inviting. Several times Harry had caught himself staring at her bum, wanting to touch it…

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his face in frustration and self-disgust. How could he think this way, after all this time? Was his captivity getting to him? He felt another shiver run through his body.

But wait a second! Some felt wrong. The shivers he was feeling weren't from cold or fear. Was it possible someone was trying to contact him? Harry held himself stock still, thinking of nothing, until another shiver passed through his body. "Yeah!" he said aloud. "I'm here! Can you hear me?"

Back in the Dark Dimension proper, Doctors Strange and Fate had each put a hand on Superman's chest and were using his aura as a guide in sending out waves of magical energy tuned to the physiological structure of Kryptonians. They had already masked out Supergirl's aura, who stood watching nearby with Magik. "Anything yet?" Supergirl asked anxiously.

"Still searching," Strange said, his voice sounding far away. "Still —"

"Got him," Fate said.

"Well, show me the location!" Magik said impatiently. "I'll go get him!"

"I want to come with you!" Supergirl said, impulsively. Magik had stepped closer to Fate, who reached out with a gloved hand and touched her forehead, imparting the information on Harry's location directly into her mind.

Superman had slumped when Strange and Fate let go of him — his reserves were nearly spent. "No, Kara, I'll go — he's my friend —"

"Don't be silly," Supergirl said. "You've been protecting us all from the guards and — things — in this place. You need to rest. I'll go with Magik."

"No," Superman shook his head tiredly. "I can do it."

"Sorry, Supes," Magik said. "But she's right." She stepped next to Supergirl. "We'll be right back!"

"Wait —!" Superman put out a hand, but Magik and Supergirl disappeared as a bright white circle of light appeared beneath them. They reappeared a moment later inside a small, stone room.

Supergirl shook her head, wide-eyed. "What — what was that place we were in just now, before we came here?" she asked Magik, sounding shaken. She had never been in a place that felt so — so _wrong_, before.

"Oh," Magik shrugged. "Otherplace — Limbo — call it what you want. I can teleport pretty much anywhere I know exists, but I have to go through there first. That's _my_ little realm, though some of my subjects have plans to kick me out." She shrugged again. "It's a bitch, being a Sorceress Supreme."

"Tell me about it." Magik and Supergirl looked around at the sound of the male voice in the room. Seated on the floor in a lotus position was Harry. As they watched, he rose, still sitting, into the air, then let his legs drop down to the floor. "I'm glad you're here!" he said, walking over to them. He looked at Magik. "Miss Rasputin?"

"Yeah, it's me, Harry," Magik grinned. "It took us a while to find you."

"I'll say it has," Harry agreed. "I've been here two years!" Harry was now taller and more muscular than when he'd come here; his face was thinner and more mature, though his hair had retained its characteristic unruly look. He looked at Supergirl. "Linda! How did _you_ get into this?"

"Call me Kara — that's my real name," Kara replied. When Harry looked at her questioningly, she said, "It's a long story." Harry's eyebrows went up, and she added, "No, we _don't_ have time to get into it right now!"

"I can wait," Harry said. He turned to Magik. "If you have a way out of here," he said to her, "then let's do it. I have no idea where in the Dark Dimension we are."

"Neither do I," Magik admitted. Then, at the looks of dismay on Harry and Supergirl's faces, she grinned and added, "Fortunately, I know where we are going — back to rejoin the others." She stepped between the two and took an arm of each once. "Here we go," she said, as a white "stepping disc" appeared beneath the trio and they vanished.

They reappeared a moment later next to Superman and Doctors Fate and Strange, Supergirl with a look of disgust on her face at the momentary images she'd glimpsed in Limbo. Harry simply looked at Magik and commented, "That was interesting," before walking over to Superman, who put his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

"You're taller," was the only thing Superman could think to say at the moment.

"Funny," Harry replied. "I thought you'd gotten a bit shorter." Superman smiled; at six-four, he was still several inches taller than Harry.

Harry shook hands with both Dr. Fate and Dr. Strange, who said, "It is time for us to return to Earth."

"Wait a minute," Magik objected. "What about the Eye? We need to get that away from Clea so she can't use it again in the future."

Strange shook his head. "We've already been here too long — with the difference in time nearly a week has passed back on Earth."

"I can fix that," Magik said. "I can teleport us all back to just after we left."

Supergirl moved close to Harry. "When we get back," she said softly, "I'd like to hear about what happened to you here."

Harry looked at her. "Okay," he said. "I'd like to hear how you went from being Linda to being Kara. And what's with these clothes," he asked her, gesturing to her uniform.

"I'm helping Kal — Superman," she said, proudly. "I'm going to be Supergirl when we get back home."

Harry managed to look surprised at this. "You have super-powers, too? Did Superman find a way to give them to you?"

"I've had them since I came to Earth," Kara said. "I'm Kryptonian, like him — we're first cousins."

"Really?" Harry said. "How long have you been on Earth?"

"You should remember," she said, almost teasingly. "You met me just a week or so after I got here. I didn't know much about Earth, then."  
"I remember now," Harry nodded. "I wondered why you were acting so strangely."

"Strangely?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "You think I was acting strange?"

"Er —" Harry wasn't sure how to back out of this. "I mean — I thought you just — weren't being very nice."

"Oh, _really_," she said, annoyed. "I had no idea who you were!"

"Mrs. Kent knew me!" Harry protested.

"So? You might've been some kid from the general store, making a delivery."

"You asked me if I was Clark," Harry reminded her.

"So?" she said again. "Who else would just walk into his mother's house as if he owned the place?"

Harry was becoming exasperated. "Never mind, then," he said. "Let's just drop the whole thing."

"Fine by me!" she retorted, turning away from him as Dr. Strange gestured for their attention.

"Everyone, gather close so Magik can return us to Earth. She will return us to as close when we left as she can."

"_None of you are going anywhere_," a new voice rang out, and a shiver ran down Harry's spine. He'd recognized who'd just spoken.

Clea. She had appeared overhead, in a burst of multicolored lights, and was staring down at them in obvious anger. "Did you think I would simply let you spirit Harry away before his work here was done?"

Doctor Strange looked up at her. "Clea, your battle with Dormammu is not Harry's responsibility. You should have asked me —"

"_You_?" Clea snorted derisively. "You couldn't even keep the Eye from me — do you think dread Dormammu would have had any more difficulty taking it from you than _I_ did?"

"Given that you _stole_ it," Magik spoke up. "Stephen didn't even have —" her voice cut off as Clea gestured at her. Harry stared at Magik — she was frozen solid, motionless, from Clea's magic.

"I don't need to hear anything from _you_," Clea snapped. "Some two-bit trollop from a pitiful little dimension, barely worth noticing!"

"Stop this!" Dr. Fate commanded, rising into the air to confront the sorceress directly. "You cannot defeat all of us, Clea!"

"You don't think so?" Clea was amused. She gestured at Fate with both hands; the blue-and-gold-clad figure suddenly vanished in a burst of white light.

Dr. Strange and the others stared, aghast at what they'd witnessed. "What did you do, Clea?" Strange demanded. "Is she —"

"Not dead," Clea finished, "but banished to the far reaches of the Dark Dimension." She turned her attention to Dr. Strange. "Sorry, Stephen, but you're banished as well, but I'm not going to be completely unreasonable. You may return to Earth when you agree to give me the Orb of Agamotto."

Strange shook his head. "I'll never agree to that —" his reply was cut off as he, too, vanished in a flash of light.

Clea turned to the remaining four. "As for you…Harry, since you found the little blonde bimbo to be so interesting —" she nodded toward Supergirl, "you and her can enjoy some time together." Both Harry and Kara vanished.

Finally, the Sorceress Supreme turned to Superman. "I suppose you've figured out by now that there's no yellow sun here, to recharge your Kryptonian system," she said.

Superman merely stared stonily at her. "Where are you sending _us_?" he finally asked, glancing toward Magik.

"Oh, nowhere," Clea replied. "You two are staying right here in my little version of your stifling, grimy city. But don't worry," she smiled evilly. "I'll be sending some of my subjects in to keep you entertained. Have fun." Clea vanished.

Magik blinked, suddenly able to move again, then looked at Superman. "Aw, crap," she said.

**Author's Note: **_Reviews are requested and appreciated._


	19. Let's Do the Limbo Rock

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Nineteen  
****Let's Do the Limbo Rock**

_Updated May 27, 2011_

Superman looked up and down the dark, silent street they were in, then turned back to Magik. "Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she said, a bit grumpily. "Miss Clea just froze my body — I could still hear everything being said." She looked around the street as well. "We'd better find someplace with more cover than this — I don't know how much of your strength is left by now."

They moved into an alleyway between buildings. "It's hard to tell," Superman said softly, "but I'd estimate I'm down to about a third of full strength. It's not going to last very long if I have to keep fighting Clea's soldiers."

Magik smirked. "Don't worry, Supes, I've got you covered. Clea messed up — she should have realized, I can teleport us back to Earth, where you can get your batteries recharged."

"But what about the others?" Superman protested.

"Don't worry, we can come back for them," Magik said, stepping next to Superman. "Ready? Okay, let's go!"

But nothing happened. After a moment, Magik shook her head angrily. "Aw, crap!" she said again. "The bitch put some kind of barrier around Limbo!"

"Limbo?" Superman asked.

"Or Otherplace — whatever you want to call it," Magik explained. "It's my domain — or I suppose you can call it mine, since I'm its Sorceress Supreme. My stepping discs can teleport myself and others anywhere I know exists, but I have to travel through Limbo to get there."

"Clea blocked your access?" Superman asked. "How could she do that, if it's your domain?"

"Beats me," Magik huffed. "She must be projecting a _lot_ of magical energy to do it, though…I wonder how long she'll be able to keep it up?"

Suddenly there was shouting near the head of the alley. A group of soldiers had spotted them. They charged down the alley toward the pair. "Probably too long ," Superman said, leaping forward to engage with the soldiers. There were shouts and cries of pain as Superman quickly took care of the threat. Even with only a third of his strength, he was more than a match for them.

After all the soldiers lay unconscious at his feet, Superman gestured for Magik to join him at the head of the alley. "We can't stay here," he told her. "This alley dead ends — we have nowhere to go except up, and I don't want to use extra energy flying, if I can avoid it. Do you think you can find a way through Clea's barrier?"

"I don't know," Magik said, uncertainly. "She has a lot more power than I do, here in her home dimension."

"We also have to figure out some way to find the others," Superman said, as they moved away from the alley.

"I think it's going to be the other way around," Magik disagreed. "Doctor Strange or Doctor Fate will have to find their way back to us — we have almost no chance of locating them. Besides, Stephen has the Orb of Agamotto — if anyone can find all of us, it'll be him."

"And Doctor Fate?" Superman asked, then turned to Magik. "There's something familiar about her, I should be able to remember, but…"

"You really don't remember?" Magik looked amused. "That's interesting!"

"Who is she?" Superman asked. "I know she was one of the other teachers at the Academy, but I didn't meet all of them."

"When did you meet _any_ of us?" Magik asked. "I don't remember you visiting the school."

"I was attending the school disguised as a twelve-year old," Superman said. "I was Jonathan Clark."

Magik laughed. "Oh, yeah, that kid!" she said. "I guess it makes sense, if you and Harry Potter swapped some of your powers with each other. You'd need to know how to use magic, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Superman nodded. "I've been working my way through the Academy Library for the past few months."

"Are you coming back when this is all over?"

"I don't think so," Superman shook his head. "I've learned about all the magic I can. And now, with Kara wanting to be a superhero, I should help with her training."

"Good," Magik said. "I'm sure she'll make you proud — she really wants to help people."

"I just hope we can get her back home so she can," Superman said, grimly.

=ooo=

It did not take Luthor long to make the flight back to Chicago. With the box containing the Philosopher's Stone securely in his grip, Luthor consulted his GPS only twice to get his bearings, landing in front of the building where he'd left Dumbledore, with nearly 15 minutes left of his hour of having Superman's powers.

Instead of taking the elevator, he amused himself by flying up the staircase to the fifth floor, then entered room 502. In his office, the sleeping form of Professor Dumbledore was still in the chair. Diggle was sitting behind the desk; he sat up straight as Luthor entered the room. "I see you've returned, Mr. Luthor,"

"Brilliant deduction," Luthor said, dryly, as he stood in front of the sleeping form of the headmaster. "Wake him up," he said curtly, pointing to Dumbledore.

The diminutive wizard took out his wand and pointed it toward Dumbledore's form, who slowly lifted his head. "What…" the wizard said, groggily.

"Hi there," Luthor said, smiling. He leaned over, opening the box and showing its contents to the old wizard. "Recognize this?"

Dumbledore stared at it for several seconds. "It's the…Philosopher's Stone."

"Right!" Luthor agreed. "Nicholas Flamel tells me you have a counterspell to perform on this rock, so its magic will be reactivated."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I…don't…"

"Ah-ah!" Luthor chided him. "No fibbing, now — he already told me all about it."  
Dumbledore looked uncertain. Finally he said, "Very well — release me and I shall perform the counterspell."

Luthor shook his head. "No can do, I'm not letting you have a wand again. I want you to tell Diggle the spell and let him do it."

Dumbledore shook his head again. "I'm afraid Dedalus won't be able to perform the counter accurately enough to break the spell."

"Well, that's a chance we'll have to take," Luthor shrugged. "If he can't do it, then I'll just have him use the Imperius Curse on you and have you do it."

Dumbledore looked chagrinned, but nodded. "As you wish. Have Dedalus come closer, I will whisper the spell to him."

Luthor gestured to Diggle, and he came around the desk and leaned close to Dumbledore's mouth. Listening with super-hearing, Luthor caught the words though they were in no language he'd ever heard before. Diggle finally nodded and turned to Luthor.

"Go ahead and cast the spell," Luthor said, holding out the box with the Stone in it. Diggle waved his wand over the box, muttering the same words Dumbledore had whispered to him.

Pain and weakness suddenly shot through Luthor, and his legs wobbled and gave way, dropping him on the floor. As the box fell to the floor, the top popped open and the Stone fell out — not red, as he'd expected, but green and glowing.

Kryptonite!

"What the hell did you _do_?" Luthor gasped, trying to push himself away from the kryptonite.

Diggle passed his wand over himself, and his form changed to that of Albus Dumbledore. "You never possessed the Philosopher's Stone, Lex — it was a ruse to trap you. The stone you stole was a transfigured piece of kryptonite."

"But Flamel —"

"Nicholas passed away last year, as I told you. I knew you would never accept that the Stone had been destroyed, so I made sure you would be able to 'find' it, as you expected."

"How did you find out about me having super-powers?" Lex gasped.

"Well, I am quite a clever wizard, after all," Dumbledore replied. "However, one of my associates had a, how shall we say, a frank discussion with one of your men — Brutus was his name, if I recall correctly. He was able to give us details of your ability to gain Superman's powers using Polyjuice Potion. Of course, as you've discovered, you also gained Superman's weaknesses as well as his strengths.

"Now I will summon the Aurors, who will take you to the Ministry where you'll stand trial for the various crimes you've committed against wizards."

"But I'm not a wizard!" Luthor protested. "The worst your wizarding government can do is remove my memories about you!"

"That will be up to the Wizengamot," Dumbledore replied. "But I daresay they will at least consider placing you in Azkaban."

"I've been in prison," Luthor scoffed. "It's not so bad."

"You've never been to Azkaban, Lex," Dumbledore answered. With two flicks of this wand, he bound Luthor with ropes and placed him in a deep sleep, then sent his Patronus to the Ministry to summon Kingsley and the other Aurors. It would take them a short while to make arrangements for a transcontinental Portkey. He hoped it would not be too long — he wished to get back to the Academy, to find out the progress on Harry's rescue.

=ooo=

Harry and Kara found themselves, strangely, in a small bedroom. There was a twin size bed next to a set of double windows, and a few other items: a tall, round bedside table (Harry guessed) and a vanity. "I don't get this," he said, looking around in confusion. "What's this supposed to be?"

Kara pointed to a nearby door. "Maybe we should see where it leads."

"Why don't you use your X-ray vision on it and find out?" Harry suggested.

"Because I'm trying to conserve my energy," Supergirl answered, annoyed. "In case I need it for something more important — like, say, defending us from monsters or stuff. Or hadn't you noticed that _your_ superpowers are gone?"

"You know about those?" Harry asked.

"Superman told us about the accident," Kara said. "You got some of his powers and he got some of your magic."

Harry nodded; in spite of being annoyed with her himself, he was glad Linda — or Kara, he reminded himself — knew about them. "Okay," he said. After a few moments he gestured toward the door again. "Well, shall we go?"

Supergirl made a soft snorting sound then opened the door, which led into a short hallway then into a living room that was just as drab as the bedroom had been. Looking around, Harry saw a nearby dining area, complete with a table, chairs and a china hutch. The living room had a highback chair, with laces doilies on the arms and back, and a rocking chair. Kara was looking around as well, an expression of bemusement on her face. What was Clea trying to tell them, dropping them in a place like this? It sort of reminded Harry of the Kent farmhouse, though it seemed much more drab and dull than Martha's home.

"There's no place like home," Kara suddenly muttered, half to herself.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Never mind," Kara shook her head. "Let's see what's outside the front door."

If the inside of the house was boring and drab, almost remarkably so, the scene that greeted them outside was equally remarkable: they were surrounded by flowers of all shapes and sizes, arranged around a small pond with a silver bridge over it.

What was most unusual, however, was a brick road that passed in front of the house. It was yellow-gold in color; in one direction, the road wound in an ever-tighter spiral until it dwindled to a point. In the other direction, they could see that it led off into the distance, over hills and dales, until it disappeared at the horizon.

Harry shook his head at this turn of events. "I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." Kara giggled. "What's funny?" Harry asked.

"That's what Dorothy said, when she landed in Munchkinland," Kara told him. She peered back at the house. "Well, I don't see any ruby slippers sticking out from under the house, so I suppose we'll have to find some other way home."

"Right," Harry said, staring at her warily. "What?"

"You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No idea."

At his look of confusion, she added, "It's a motion picture, I watched it at Martha's one night."

There was a sudden puff of smoke and flame nearby, and both Harry and Kara turned to see a black-robed figure appear from the midst of the smoke. It was Clea, dressed in an old, absurd-looking witch's costume, complete with broomstick and a wide-brimmed, pointed hat. "What's this all about, Clea?" Harry asked, his tone somewhere between exasperation and curiosity.

"You've been playing a role with me for the past two years, Harry," Clea replied. "It's time you started playing things _my_ way." She pointed a long finger at Kara. "Your little girlfriend here has been living in Kansas for a while — I thought these images would make a suitable challenge for you."

"What's the challenge?" Supergirl asked, impulsively. "To follow the yellow brick road?"

Clea chuckled. "Yes, it is! Your challenge is to follow the road until you reach Oz. That will be no easy task, I assure you!"

"And if we do?" Harry asked. "What's our reward?"

"If you make it to the Emerald City…" Clea pondered for a moment. "I'll send your little super-friend home, unharmed."

"What about Harry?" Kara demanded.

Clea looked at her scathingly. "Harry still has a mission to complete before I'm done with him, little girl. Just be thankful I'm letting _you_ go — _if_ you succeed in completing my challenge."

Supergirl struck a defiant pose. "I'm not leaving unless Harry gets to leave, too!"

Clea shrugged indifferently. "Suit yourself." She pointed a finger at Harry. "We'll just see how well you do, Harry Potter — but be warned: I'll get you, my pretty boy, and your little girlfriend, too!" Laughing evilly, Clea gestured with the broom in her hand, and plumes of colored smoke surrounded her. When it cleared, she was gone.

Harry shook his head. "Okay, that was pretty weird."

But Supergirl looked thoughtful. "I wonder how close to the story she plans to stick — there are talking trees that throw fruit, fields of sleep-inducing poppies, and flying monkeys in that picture."

"Sounds like fun," Harry said, dryly.

"But there are also other characters that helped Dorothy get to Oz — the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. If we meet any of them, they might be able to help us make it to Oz."

"I'm not really interested in playing any games with Clea," Harry told her. "But if we make it to this 'Oz,' and Clea keeps her word, then you'll get to go home."

"I'm not leaving without you, Harry," Supergirl said, adamantly. "I don't know what kind of superhero I would be, if I just ran off and left you here, after all the effort we've put into finding you, to bring you back with us."

"It looks like that's up to Clea, now," Harry pointed out. "Right now we don't have any way of knowing what's happened to the others."

"I know it," Supergirl said, in a discouraged tone. "But we have to at least try, don't we?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, we do." He smiled slightly. "You know, it's usually me that keeps egging everyone on when they're ready to give up."

Supergirl grinned as well. "I guess you're just becoming a slacker in your old age."

"Old age?" Harry snorted a laugh. "I'm not _that_ much older than you now!"

"You did fill out pretty well," Kara noted, giving Harry an appraising look. "I thought you looked awfully young, the last time I saw you."

Harry just shook his head, then pointed down the yellow brick road. "Shall we get going."

"Sure," she said, and they fell into step together. After a moment Kara took his arm in hers, and began singing softly, "Oh, we're off to see the Wizard…"

"What the heck is _that_ supposed to mean? What wizard?"

"Never mind."

=ooo=

Superman and Magik spent some time avoiding roving bands of Clea's soldiers, moving along the dark city streets, in shadows and through alleyways, until they finally took refuge in an empty building. Superman used his X-ray vision to determine the building was empty; they then made their way inside and into a room that allowed for multiple escape routes if they were attacked. They would have problems if the soldiers blocked all exits, but Superman had noticed that the soldiers tended to attack without forethought.

"It should do for a while," Magik said, looking around at the room. "But if Clea decides to tell her soldiers where we are, they could rush us from several directions."

"We'll have to take the risk," Superman decided. "We need to come up with a plan to get your teleport ability back."

Magik shook her head, frustrated. "I don't have the power to break Clea's spell, Supes! I already told you that!"

"I understand," Superman nodded. "But perhaps I do."

"That's going to be a pretty tall order," Magik looked skeptical.

"I expect so," Superman agreed. "But I don't see what else we can do, do you?"

"Not really," Magik shrugged. "What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know yet," the Man of Steel admitted. "What can you tell me about this Limbo of yours?"

Magik spent the next several minutes describing Limbo: Also known as "Otherplace," it was a pocket universe containing demons and other being who had either been trapped their or had remained for reasons of their own. Its former ruler, Belasco, a powerful sorcerer who had once served the Elder gods, other ancient extradimensional demons. Otherplace took the form of a small, rocky planet, with limited resources except for magic, which permeated the planet and atmosphere. At the center of the planet was a heart-shaped deposit of a magical metal called _promethium_, which supplies its magical energies and gives reality to Otherplace itself.

"How much control do you have over this Limbo?" Superman asked.

"From here? Magik shook her head. "None at all. My magical abilities are pretty average on Earth — here, in Clea's domain, I have about the same or maybe a little less.

"But if I can make it back to Limbo," she added. "I can reassume the mantle of Sorceress Supreme and break Clea's barrier. The catch is, I have to get through the barrier before I can do that."

"I may have a way for us to do that," Superman said. "I've read something like 95 percent of the books in the Academy Library — I'm trying to remember a set of spells that will let us slip through her magic and into Limbo. Can you tell me how your 'stepping disc' ability works?"

"Well, it developed while I was living there, being trained by Belasco —"

"Wait," Superman said. "You actually _lived_ in Limbo?"

"For seven years," Magik nodded. "I was kidnapped by Belasco to be his ally in his conquests of other dimensions, including Earth, but he allowed me to become more powerful than him, and I deposed him and assumed the title of Sorceress Supreme of Limbo."

"Go on about the stepping discs," Superman prompted.

"Well, it's like a conduit," Magik continued. "I visualize the place where I want to teleport to, and my connection with Limbo brings me there and then on to my desired destination, more or less."

"More or less?" Superman repeated. "So your control is not absolute?"

"It kinda depends," Magik said, a wry expression on her face. "If I'm teleporting across town, I'm usually spot on where I want to be. If I'm making intercontinental jumps I can usually get within a few yards of where I'm aiming. Most of the time, teleporting between dimensions, I can land anywhere from a foot to a mile from where I'm trying to go. And if I'm teleporting to another planet, I'm usually not to picky where I land, unless I know where I'm going. Then I can usually hit within a few miles or so of my target."

"I see," Superman said, slowly. "So, first we have to get you to Limbo. From there, do you think you can remove Clea's barrier and prevent her from raising another one?"

"Piece of cake," Magik nodded confidently. "Now that I know what she's doing, I can make sure she can't do it again. The only problem we're going to have, Supes, is that when we come back her to get Harry and the others, she's going to be the big kahuna again."

"We don't have much choice," Superman told her.

"Agreed," Magik nodded. "Well, at least we can get you charged up again. And I may have a way for you to retain most of your superpowers, even without a yellow sun to recharge you.

"But first things first," she finished. "How are we going to break through her barrier and into Limbo?"

"There are some spells specifically designed for weakening magical wards," Superman said. "Even wards as powerful as Clea's. I can begin invoking them, then you can try teleporting us to Limbo. I hope one of them will work."

"Well, then start casting them," Magik said, determinedly. "I'm ready to start kicking Clea's skinny butt."

=ooo=

Harry and Kara had walked some distance along the road, over hills and along valleys, and were now entering a farming area. Rows and rows of corn flanked them on either side, protected by rickety wooden fences.

"How far is it supposed to be to this Oz, anyway?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Kara said. "They never really say how long they walked."

"If I had any idea where it was, I could teleport us there."

"Assuming Clea would let you," Kara muttered.

In reply, Harry vanished, reappearing on the road a hundred or so yards ahead of her. In a flash Kara had super-sped up to walk beside him once again.

"I thought you were conserving your strength," Harry said.

"I thought you were going to stop being a jerk, too," Kara retorted.

Harry snorted. "Well, I guess not."

"Fine," Supergirl said, looking away from him. "Forget I said anything."

Harry looked away as well. "It was just a joke," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

Harry looked back at her. "Right — can't resist eavesdropping, can you?"

"You're standing right next to me!" Kara said, outraged by his comment.

"Well, that doesn't mean you have to listen!" Harry replied, lamely.

Supergirl just shook her head, refusing to be baited further. Suddenly she pointed down the road. "Look up ahead," she said. "I see a signpost."

"What's it say?" Harry asked, the argument forgotten.

Supergirl focused her vision on the sign. "It's pointing to the left, it says 'Oz.'"

As they neared the sign they saw the reason for it: they had come to an intersection in the road, with three more yellow roads leading off in various directions. The signpost also had arrows pointing in the other two directions as well. All of them said, "Oz."

"Hmm," Harry said, waving a hand at the signpost. All of the signs glowed blue momentarily.

"What did you do?" Kara asked.

"I cast a spell to see which path to Oz was the shortest one," Harry said. "But they all said they were the shortest path. I don't know which way we should go."

"Some people take the path on the left," a new voice said, one they both recognized. Turning, Harry and Kara saw Doctor Strange looming over them in the cornfield behind him. Weirdly, he was somehow attacked to a stake that lifted above the stalks of corn. There was a curiously empty expression on his face as he smiled at them, one hand pointing in the direction he'd just indicated.

"Doctor Strange!" They both exclaimed, and hurriedly stepped over the fence into the field. "What are you _doing_ there?"

Strange shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know, really — I don't remember much before finding myself hanging here."

"Can you get down?" Supergirl asked, anxiously.

"I don't know how," Strange replied, staring at them dully. "Can you help me?"

"There's something wrong with him," Supergirl whispered.

"Oh, you think?" Harry replied, sarcastically. He gestured toward Dr. Strange, who lifted away from the stake and floated down to the road where they were standing.

"Thanks," Strange said, looking around with an air of seeing things for the first time. His normally sharp, penetrating stare had been replaced by a dull, slack-jawed expression. "I don't know how long I've been hanging there, watching the crows eat the corn."

But Harry had noticed something else was missing besides Strange's wits. "I don't see the Orb of Agamotto on him," he said to Supergirl. "What happened to the Orb?" he asked Strange urgently.

"The what?" Strange replied. Harry sighed.

"Great," he said. "Just great! I'll bet Clea took it from him, somehow!"

"But she said he could leave if he turned over the Orb to her," Supergirl recalled. "Why would she do _this_ to him, if he complied? He doesn't have the Orb on him."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Hello?" Supergirl said, pointing to her eyes. "X-ray vision, remember?"

Harry shook his head, not liking the idea of a 15-year old girl X-raying the clothing of a bloke who was 65 years old, even if he looked like he was in his…fifty's? "Alright, that's a bit too much information," he said.

"But that makes her even more powerful, doesn't it?" Supergirl surmised.

"It does," Harry nodded, grimly. "Too powerful, I suspect, for all of us combined to stop her, if she decides not to let us go at the end of this journey."

"Journey?" Strange repeated. "Where are we going?"

Harry looked at Kara. "We're off to see the wizard, I suppose," he said, with heavy irony. "Take his arm, Kara — we might as well get going. Hopefully we can figure out what Clea did to him and reverse the effects, somehow."

Kara took the sorcerer's arm, then looked at the three roads leading away. "But which road do we take?"

Harry shrugged. "All roads lead to Oz, supposedly, so it doesn't matter which one we take." He pointed to the left, the road he was standing closest to. "We might as well go this way," he said. They turned and began walking down the road.

=ooo=

The bleak, dark landscape of Limbo was momentarily illuminated by a flash of white as two figures appeared: a tall man dressed in red and blue, with a flowing red cape, and a willowy blonde with striking blue eyes.

"Wow, we _made_ it!" Illyana said, turning to give Superman a hug. Superman accepted the gesture but let go of her almost immediately. A bit embarrassed at her emotional reaction, Illyana covered by saying, "I'm glad you knew those spells, Superman — I was beginning to think we'd never break through Clea's barrier."

"Well, now that we're here," Superman said, looking around. "What do we do next? Can you remove the barrier?"

Illyana nodded and appeared to concentrate for several seconds. "Done," she said at last. "She won't be able to put up another one in its place — I've erected spells to counter any such attempts."

"That was quick," Superman noted. "What next?"

"Well, we should see about getting you back up to full power," Illyana suggested. "I was going to teleport us to Earth, to let you soak up some rays, but I have another idea."

"And that is —"

"Just a second," Illyana interrupted him. "I want to get things going." She raised her head and said, loudly, "S'ym! N'Astirh! Front and center!"

There was a flash of reddish flame and smoke as a demon appeared in front of them. Red, with cloven hooves for feet and batlike wings, the demon had a long snout filled with teeth. His red, glowing eyes flicked from Illyana to Superman and back. "Yes, Mistress," he said, bowing obsequiously. "You summoned me?"

"Where's S'ym?" Illyana asked, looking around. "I called for him, too."

"On his way, Mistress," N'Astirh said, bowing again. "He was, shall we say, disciplining the troops…"

There was another flash of smoke, purple in hue this time, and a gargantuan purple demon stepped from the fumes. Superman looked up in surprise. While the first demon stood no taller than Illyana, this one towered over him. "S'ym here," the demon said, resentment in his voice. "What does Mistress require of S'ym?"

"I want you to take a work detail and get me some promethium," Illyana told him. "I need at least fifty pounds of the raw mineral."

S'ym eyed Superman. It was pretty clear he viewed his presence as a threat to his position. "May take some time," he grunted. "Must dig deep to get to mineral."

"Then you'd better get started," Illyana snapped. S'ym stared for a few moments longer, then grunted and disappeared.

"When they extract the promethium," Illyana told N'Astirh, "I want you to fashion it into a ring with this symbol —" she indicated the "S"-emblem on Superman's chest "— for the setting."

"And what is this ring for, Mistress?" the demon inquired, a bit nervously. He, too, now viewed Superman with suspicion.

"I'll take care of that," Illyana told him, curtly. The demon bowed and vanished as well.

"You control those…things?" Superman asked, after the demons had disappeared.

"Yeah," Illyana replied. "I am the Sorceress Supreme here, after all — they're all my subjects."

"Slavery?" Superman said, his tone making it clear he didn't approve, even if the slaves were demons.

Illyana gave him a annoyed look. "Come on, Supes — they're _demons_! Besides, they're more slaves of this dimension than they are of me. I control Limbo, so they have to do what I say."

"That doesn't sound like much of a distinction," Superman observed.

"You know, you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you," Illyana retorted. "How's your strength level?"

"Low," Superman admitted. "I'm down to perhaps a fourth of full strength."

"Well, this ring is going to fix that," she told him. "I'm going to enchant it so that it converts magical energy from Limbo into yellow solar radiation. That should raise your strength back to its full level."

"Will it work in the Dark Dimension, too?" Superman inquired.

"I hope so," Illyana replied. "Though if Clea figures out what I've done she may be able to cut off the flow of magic into the ring. If that happens you'll begin to lose power again."

"We'll have to chance that." Superman considered options for a moment. "We'll have to find the others fast and get out of the Dark Dimension as quickly as possible, even if we can't get the Eye back for Dr. Strange."

Illyana shook her head. "I hate that — it gives Clea more opportunity to try crap like this again and again."

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Anyway, let's go to _my_ palace — I want to have everything prepared when they finish the ring."

Superman looked around. Limbo seemed to be a planet, but was a strangely small one — the horizon seemed only a few hundred yards away; and, though it seemed to be perpetually dusk here, there were no stars in the sky. "How far is —"

"— it?" he asked, just as they reappeared in a throne hall.

"Not far," Illyana grinned. "Especially when I can teleport anywhere I want."

"Very opulent," Superman said, looking around at the lavishly-decorated room. The room was long and narrow, with silver torch stands along the walls, which were covered with exquisite wall hangings. In the center of the ceiling was an enormous crystal chandelier. At the head of the room was a golden throne, trimmed in the finest silk. "Not one for underdoing things, are you?"

"Well, if you've got it, flaunt it, I always say," Illyana answered. She walked over and sat down on the throne. "Besides, I need to keep the natives impressed with my power, or they start getting ideas. S'ym and N'Astirh have tried to organize the other demons to overthrow me. They nearly succeeded once, too — I had stayed away from Limbo too long. Now I try to get back every so often, to reassert my status as Sorceress Supreme."

She stood. "Well, if you'll excuse me for a bit, I'm going to make preparations to enchant that ring."

"Do you mind if I join you?" Superman asked. "To see what you're doing?"

But Illyana shook her head. "No, I'd rather do this alone, if you don't mind—I'm going to impart some significant magic into the ring, and I need to mentally calm myself." She smiled, a bit wryly. "In spite of my cool demeanor, I'm a bit rattled by everything we've been through."

"I understand," Superman said, with a small smile. "It would rattle most people."

"I'm not most people, though," Illyana pointed out. She waved a hand around her. "Feel free to look around the palace. I'll send for you the minute I've finished the ring." She disappeared.

Superman smiled to himself. Miss Rasputin was an interesting woman. If circumstances were a little different… but no — ultimately, she was not his type. His thoughts went to Lois; it was too bad things hadn't worked out between them, though Rao knew he'd had his chance with her. But the stress of knowing who he was had seemed too much for her, especially after the crisis with Zod, Ursa and Non.

No, he would go back to Earth and help Kara prepare for her role as a super-hero. She'd need a cover identity and a fair amount of training in the use of her powers. Clark just hoped he could get her and the others back to Earth…

"Hey, blue boy," a voice spoke behind him. Superman turned. It was the large purple demon, S'ym. His wanderings had taken him to a different area of the palace. "You lost?"

"Not really," Superman said, coolly.

S'ym had a large cigar clenched between his fanged teeth. "You look lost," the demon grinned. "You shouldn't go wandering around the palace — you never know what might happen."

"I appreciate the advice," Superman said, keeping his tone mild. "Well, I'll see you around…"

"Hold on," the demon interrupted. "S'ym'll make sure you don't get lost again." He advanced until he was standing directly in front of Superman, towering over him. "The Mistress might get worried about you."

"I don't think so," Superman demurred. "She knows I can take care of myself."

"Ooo, tough, are you, blue boy?" S'ym blew cigar smoke in the Man of Steel's face; Clark waved it away. "Maybe you'll show S'ym just how tough you are."

"I don't think so," Superman said again. He didn't know how strong this S'ym was, but he was already at a disadvantage, seeing that the demon was magical in nature, _and_ his strength level was low now. "We don't have a reason to fight."

"Sure we do," S'ym grinned. One of his fists suddenly lashed out, striking Superman across the face. Caught off-guard, the blow knocked him down and he slid a dozen feet across the floor.

"S'ym thinks blue boy isn't as tough as he thinks he is," S'ym smirked as Superman picked himself up off the floor. "I think you're a wimp."

Superman stepped up to the demon once again. Based on the effort he'd seen S'ym put into the blow, his strength level, as low as it was, was more than adequate to handle a few more blows. "Let's try that again," he said, challenging the demon.

"Sure thing, wimp," S'ym reared back, and Superman braced himself. S'ym's fist smashed into Superman's cheek, but this time the Man of Steel did not budge. It was a hard blow, though; Superman had actually felt the demon's leathery knuckles connect. He felt an odd sensation spreading from the point of impact. But no damage was done.

S'ym blinked, looking at the Man of Steel in surprise. Without a word he turned and strode away. "Nice seeing you, too," Superman called after him, shaking his head at the sudden change in the demon's attitude.

At that moment he heard Illyana's voice inside his head. "Okay, Supes, meet me in the throne room." He turned and headed back to the room, where Illyana was holding a ring of silvery material.

"Here it is," she said, handing it to him. Superman examined the ring. It had his emblem on its head — the image glittered red, as if it were composed of ruby or other precious material. "Try it on," Illyana prompted.

Superman slipped the ring onto his right hand. Immediately he began to feel stronger. "It's working," he said. "I can feel my strength coming back."

"Of course," Illyana said confidently. "I know my magic, at least here in Limbo. You should be up to full strength in a minute or so."

"Good," Superman nodded. "And you think it'll work in the Dark Dimension as well?"

"It should absorb the magic there as well," Illyana concurred. "Maybe not as fast as here, but it should keep your power level up, unless you have to go full tilt."

"Okay, I'm ready," Superman said a minute later. "Are we ready to go back?"

"Ready to rock 'n' roll," Illyana agreed. "Let's go save our friends!"

A/N: As usual, reviews are requested and appreciated!


	20. Battle Royale

**Harry Potter Returns**

A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty**

**Battle Royale**

_Updated June 10, 2011_

Harry, Kara and a befuddled Dr. Strange walked for several hours along the yellow brick road, passing through farmlands, a green and rolling valley, and finally into a woodland area, where the trees kept most of the sunlight from reaching them. It was a strange sort of sunlight, however — though yellow, Kara complained that she wasn't receiving any energy from the radiation.

"Not surprising," Harry had told her. "Clea isn't going to give us an environment that would restore super-powers."

In the woods, Harry began to feel an emptiness in his belly. "I need something to eat," he told Kara.

"What do you usually do for food?" she asked.

"In the Palace, Clea normally had meals prepared three times a day," Harry said, absently rubbing his growling stomach. "But I should be able to whip up something on my own, with all the magic she's taught me. Are, uh, you hungry?" he asked her, sounding tentative. He wasn't sure how she'd feel about eating food made with magic.

But Kara nodded appreciatively. "I don't normally need to eat, of course, but that's on Earth when I'm powered by the sun. Now that my powers are diminishing I could use something to eat."

"Okay," Harry said, then pointed to a small clearing nearby in the woods. "Why don't we stop there and I'll conjure up something to eat." He made several gestures; a round wooden table appeared, along with three chairs. With another wave of his hand a tablecloth appeared on the table, along with three place settings. They sat Dr. Strange down at the table; then, as Kara made to sit down, Harry pulled her chair back for her.

"Thanks," she said, giving him a surprised look. Harry nodded then sat down himself. He looked over the table for a few moments, deciding what kind of food to conjure up.

"Let's start with some roast beef and potatoes," he said. "And perhaps some peas and carrots as well?"

"It sounds good," Kara smiled. Harry waved his hands over the table, invoking the magic he'd learned.

Nothing happened.

After the third attempt he sat back, frustrated. "Clea must be doing something to inhibit these spells," he said at last. "They _should_ work!"

"Maybe that's the point," Kara suggested. "She said this was going to be a challenge."

"Yeah…" Harry muttered. He rubbed his chin, looking around, then spied something of interest on a nearby tree. Kara was comforting Dr. Strange, who still hadn't recovered from whatever Confunding Curse of Bewilderment Jinx Clea had cast on him, so he stood and walked over to the tree, where a couple of large, red apples hung invitingly from a low branch. "These look good," he said, reaching up to pluck them as Kara looked around and realized, too late, what was about to happen.

"Harry, watch out for —" she began, but too late: As Harry pulled down one of the apples, the tree suddenly reached out and slapped his hand. Harry stared at his hand in shock, then at the tree.

"Whaddaya think yer doin'?" the tree growled at him, in a raspy voice.

"Uh —"

"How'd ya like it if someone came along and pulled off a piece a' _you_?" the tree went on, pointing a branch at Harry's nose.

"Well, I wouldn't like it at all," Harry said. "But I'm not a fruit tree, am I?"

"Oh," the tree snorted. "A wise guy, eh? Hey, boys," it said to the trees around them. "These humans think it's okay to just come along and pluck us!" There was a grumbling from the other trees — obviously they didn't take kindly to someone eating their fruit.

"You want some apples, huh?" The tree reached up and grabbed one of its own apples, then threw it full force at Harry's head. Harry instinctively erected a barrier that the apple bounced off of. He backed away until he was standing with Kara and Dr. Strange once again.

"I think we'd better get out of here," he muttered to Kara.

"I agree," she nodded. "But maybe I can get us a few more apples, if they're going to throw them at us." To the trees she said. "You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, with a throw like that!"

"Oh yeah?" the tree snarled. "Get her, boys!" The other trees began throwing apples at Supergirl, who snatched them from the air in ones and twos. A few flew wide, rolling into the woods on the opposite side of the road.

"I'll get those!" Harry said, pulling Strange across the road, out of range of the apple-throwing trees, then plunging into the woods on that side to locate the apples that had rolled that way. He finally came upon the last apple and picked it up, then stopped as he realized it had nestled between a pair of golden boots. Standing, he found himself looking at the golden helmet of Dr. Fate, who was standing motionless in the forest.

"Kara!" he called. "Guess who I found?" A moment later Kara was standing beside him, staring at the frozen mystic.

"She's got the role of the Tin Man," she said a few moments later. "In the story, he was rusted stiff by a sudden rain."

"Ah, right," Harry said, still not understanding. "But I don't think Dr. Fate is made of tin. And she's certainly not a man," he added, matter of factly.

Supergirl looked at him askance. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."

"Who?"

"Don't you read?" Supergirl looked at him in disbelief. "You _have_ to know who Sherlock Holmes is!" Harry just shrugged.

"Oh, Rao…" she rolled her eyes. "Alright then," she continued, looking around. "See if you can find something that might 'unrust' her — a can of oil, or something like that."

"But she's not rusty!" Harry pointed out. "How's that going to work?"

"_I _don't know!" Supergirl said loudly, exasperated at being constantly questioned. "Your girlfriend Clea is making the rules here, isn't she? There's no telling what will free her!"

"Clea is not my girlfriend!" Harry disagreed hotly. "I was kidnapped, remember?"

"Whatever," Supergirl said, holding up a hand to cut off his protest. They both began looking around, not wanting to look at one another.

But after searching for nearly a minute they had found nothing unusual near Dr. Fate's frozen form. "I don't get this," Supergirl said, in frustration. "There's nothing that might unfreeze Dr. Fate _anywhere_."

"Maybe that's one of Clea's challenges," Harry theorized. "She was always coming up with tactical problems for me to solve, either magically or by using logic."

"Well, even if we can't unfreeze her, we can take her with us," Supergirl said, stepping over to grasp Fate by the shoulders. "I'll just — uhhh!" Supergirl let go of her, looking at her hands.

"What happened?" Harry asked. "Is your strength gone?"

"No," Supergirl shook her head. "I still have some left — I can still feel it! Something is preventing me from lifting her, though."

"Let me try," Harry said. He gestured at the motionless mystic, invoking a levitation spell. Nothing happened. After several more tries Harry stepped back, shaking his head. "Clea must have some kind of spell on her that keeps her fixed to the ground."  
"So we're stuck here," Supergirl said. "We can't leave her here, and we can't leave without her!"

Harry was looking into Fate's helmet. "I can't tell if she's conscious of us or not. I'm going to take the helmet off her."

Supergirl, who was standing behind the figure, said, "I don't know how it comes off — the helmet is so tight-fitting that we'll probably tear her head off —"

But Harry had reached up and, placing a hand on either side of the helmet, pulled it up and forward slightly. There was a burst of light along the back of the helmet as the metal spread apart, allowing him to lift the helmet free. As he did this, Fate's uniform began to glow brightly, then was replaced by a blouse and knee-length skirt. Before him stood a pert-looking blonde with blue-green eyes, eyes that suddenly blinked, startling Harry slightly.

"Professor Sullivan?" he asked, as Chloe shook her head, trying to focus. "You can move again!"

"Harry…" Chloe looked down at herself, then around. "Where are we?"

"Uh, we're in a forest, on our way to some place called Oz," Harry said, wondering how much of the obvious he should belabor. He held up Fate's helmet. "You were wearing this — remember?"

Chloe gave a wry smile. "Of course I remember. But what do you mean, we're going to Oz? What did Clea do to us?"

"You were frozen stiff," Supergirl said. "Like the Tin Man, the character from —"

"I grew up in Kansas, Kara," Chloe interrupted her. "I know the story. So how did you unfreeze me?"

"Just taking off the helmet seemed to do it," Harry said. Chloe frowned.

"No one should be able to remove the Fate helmet except the wearer," she said. "Unless Clea altered its magic, somehow. That would take a _lot_ of magical power."

"We think she has both the Eye and the Orb of Agamotto," Supergirl told her.

Chloe's brow furrowed. "That's bad," she said. "Where's Dr. — oh no!" she exclaimed, suddenly seeing the sorcerer standing behind them. "What did she _do_ to him?"

"We don't know, but he doesn't seem to remember much," Harry said, as Chloe hurried over to him.

"Did you try and snap him out of it?" Chloe asked, anxiously.

"How?" Harry asked. He looked at Supergirl. She shook her head.

"All I know," Kara said, "is that the Scarecrow wanted to go with Dorothy to see the Wizard and get a brain."

Chloe smirked. "If that's the case then if I'm supposed to represent the Tin Man, I should be going to see the Wizard and get a heart."

Supergirl glanced at her, then frowned as she stared at her chest. "I hate to tell you this," she said, slowly. "But you don't _have_ a heart."

"Well, that's ridiculous," Chloe snapped. "I wouldn't even be alive if —" she stopped as Harry waved a hand toward her, then looked into her eyes.

"She's right," he said. "There's nothing in your chest where your heart should be."

"It's Clea," Chloe breathed furiously. "She's taken my heart, somehow!"

"If that's true," Supergirl said, "then you can't leave this place — you'd die if you went back to Earth without your heart."

"That must be it," Harry agreed. "We have to figure out how to get it back inside you, or you won't be able to leave this place!"

"Then we'd better getting moving," Supergirl said. "Maybe finding Oz will help us figure out a way to get Dr. Strange his brain back, and Miss Sullivan her heart."

The four of them continued down the yellow brick road, each of them wondering (except perhaps for Dr. Strange) whether finding Oz would actually solve their problems.

=ooo=

Superman and Magik reappeared in the Dark Dimension near the building they had originally been hiding in. The streets seemed clear of any soldiers; in fact, other than them and the "zombie" versions of various superheroes from Earth they had seen no other citizens. "I wish we had a way to locate the others," Magik was saying. "I could just teleport them back to our location —"

"Hold on a minute," Superman said. Now at full power, he soared into the air, hovering a thousand yards over the city. Using his super-vision, he scanned all the buildings and the surrounding area. He landed near Illyana, shaking his head. "Other than a few roving patrols on the other side of town, the city seems deserted. I'm not sure what else we can do to find them."

"Well, you're the one with the magic here, Supes," Magik pointed out. "My powers are much more limited here than they are in Limbo. If anyone's going to find the others now, it's going to be you."

"But —" Superman paused for a moment. "Well, I know some detection spells, including some of the more powerful ones from several books on advanced magic. But I've never actually cast many spells."

"What do you know about mind-reading or mind fusion spells?" Illyana asked.

"I know a few," Superman said, then caught on. "Do you mean you and I should —?" The Man of Steel shook his head uncertainly. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Do you have a better idea?" Illyana asked. She pointed at his forehead and asked, teasingly, "Think I'm going to learn all your deep, dark secrets?"

"Dr. Fate already knows my real identity," Superman said. "I suppose you do, too."

Illyana just shrugged. "It's not like I'm going out and broadcast it to the world. Neither will Chloe."

Superman looked at her with a startled expression. "Chloe? Chloe _Sullivan_? I wondered why her voice sounded familiar when I heard it in my head!"

Illyana grinned. "We wondered why it was taking so long for you to recognize her."

"I was distracted by other things," the Man of Steel demurred. "She and I went to Smallville High together, along with Lana Lang."

"She's told me," Illyana said. "She was pretty down for a while, after you left Earth five years ago. You should have seen how excited she was when she heard you were going to study at the Academy."

"But I never saw her once in all the time I was there!" he protested.

"Yeah, well… she was a little reluctant to approach you — she was afraid you wouldn't remember her, or —"

"How could she think that?" Clark asked, disbelievingly. "I remember everything!"

"But you never once sought her out at the school," Illyana reminded him, a bit accusingly. "She thought you might be avoiding _her_."

"I never knew she was there," Clark said. "I didn't see her at the orientation classes."

"Well, anyway," Illyana said, "you know she's there now. But _now_, we have to find her and the others, and the best way to do that is to merge our minds and let me direct you in the use of your magic powers."

Superman nodded and stepped closer to her. "It will, um, help if I touch you while I cast the spell," Superman said, reaching out with one hand to touch her at the base of the neck.

"Like the old Vulcan mind-meld, eh?" Illyana smiled. Clark shrugged fractionally, then began reciting the words that activated the spell. They both felt a curious sensation come over them — a feeling of euphoric dizziness, and Illyana's head slowly lowered, as if she were going into a trance.

"I can feel our minds getting closer," Illyana said, in a distracted, far-away voice that Clark both heard and felt in his own mind. "It's like we're both…melting…melting…becoming…"

"…One," Clark finished. He took his hand away from her neck. "Yes…I can feel both of us…together…in my head."

"I do, too," Illyana nodded. "I think…it worked." She quickly assessed the magical information that Clark had accumulated during his time at the Academy. "You have a _lot_ of powerful magic at your disposal, Clark!"

"I suppose I knew that," Clark agreed. "But without the experience of actually _using_ it, I'm not always sure how to proceed."

"Don't worry — I do," Illyana told him. "Okay, let's get to work."

Under Illyana's guidance, Superman sent out detection spell after detection spell that spread out from their location across the Dark Dimension. "Won't this attract Clea's attention, though?" Superman asked. "It seems like she'd be aware of any magic that's not her own."

"A risk we have to take," Illyana told him. "Besides, Clea has to expect that we're going to try — we don't want to disappoint her."

"I don't think I'll mind some disappointment on her part," Clark retorted, "as long as we can find everyone and get them home!"

"Once we find all of them," Illyana agreed. "I'll be able to teleport everyone, jointly or separately, back to Limbo. Once we're all there, I'll take us back to Earth."

They kept up the search for what seemed like hours, scouring every nook and cranny of the Dark Dimension's many "pocket" universes, where any or all of their friends might be located. Clea had built up quite a varied array of these smaller dimensional places in the Dark Dimension, like a large house divided into many smaller rooms; each one had to be thoroughly scanned with Superman's magic. A normal wizard would have dropped from exhaustion before long, using the amount of magic Superman was using, but Illyana's ring kept restoring his strength with the ambient magic of the Dark Dimension, albeit not as quickly as it had in Limbo.

Illyana still found time for questions, however. "What will you do when we get back to Earth?"

"I thought we discussed this," Clark replied. "I'll begin training Kara how to use her super-powers."

"Yeah, but what about your job?"

"I don't know — I hope I can persuade Perry White to take me back on the Planet."

"So, back to Metropolis, huh? What about Lois?"

"Hmm, so you _have_ been peeking at my thoughts."

"Well, it's kind of hard to miss those thoughts — I see 'LOIS' written in just about every thought you have!"

"That's an exaggeration — I am _not_ constantly thinking about Lois."

"No, but she's in there, isn't she? Of course, I also see a bit of Chloe mixed in there now…"

"I haven't seen or heard from Chloe since we were in high school — I'm just curious to see how she's been doing."

"Right."

"Would you care to talk about your love-life, Miss Rasputin?"

"Not especially."

"All right, then… Perhaps we can concentrate on the task at hand."

"You're a real party pooper, Supes."

=ooo=

"Are we there yet?" Supergirl asked, for the tenth time since they'd entered the forest. This time Harry ignored her.

Chloe, however, put her hand on her chest where her heart should have been. "I don't know what we're going to find even if we _do_ reach Oz, if Clea is the one behind the disappearance of my heart. It seems like only she can restore it."

"And Dr. Strange's intelligence," Harry nodded agreement. "But she agreed to let Supergirl go home if we met her 'challenge' — I just hope I can persuade her to make you and Dr. Strange normal, again."

"But that still leaves you stuck _here_!" Supergirl protested. "We came here to save you, not for you to sacrifice yourself saving us!"

"I don't know what else we can do for now," Harry argued. "Besides," he went on, in a lowered tone, "we still haven't come across Superman or Illyana — maybe they escaped back to Earth."

"Neither one of them would abandon us," Chloe said. "At least, I know Illyana wouldn't."

Harry stopped, looking at her sharply. "What are you implying, that Superman _might_ leave us here?"

"No!" Chloe said, but she looked unsure. "It's just that Superman…well, he left Earth five years ago, and we just recently found that he'd returned, though he hasn't gone back to saving people."

"Everyone deserves a holiday," Harry said, defensively.

"Yes, but five _years_?" Chloe looked skeptical. "That's _not_ your average vacation!"

"He was doing something very important to him!" Supergirl said, chiming in on the discussion. "He went back to find out what happened to Krypton!"

"I thought Krypton exploded long ago," Chloe said.

"It did," Supergirl went on. "He went back to see if there were any survivors."

Chloe arched at eyebrow at the young blonde. "I suppose he found you…?"

"No, my family and a group of Kryptonians survived in a space arcology. We lived in space for some time before the arcology became unstable and began to break apart. My father was trying to prevent it but he couldn't, so he put me in a life pod and sent me on to Earth. So far Superman and I are the only survivors of Krypton."

"Wow," Chloe said contritely. "I'm sorry — I didn't realize…"

"It's okay," Kara nodded sadly. "Kal and I have both dealt with it in our own ways."

"I just didn't want you to think I was heartless," Chloe said, with a weak grin. Kara smiled as well. Harry just shook his head, while Dr. Strange drooled a bit on his chin.

"Look up ahead," Harry said suddenly, pointing ahead of them. "We're coming to the edge of the forest!" Further ahead the trees were thinning out; they could see blue sky ahead of them, over a rolling field of green and red. Coming to the edge of the forest, they saw what lay before them.

Oz, the Emerald City!

Between them, however, was a vast field of flowers, with red petals. They lined either side of the yellow brick road, extending as far as Supergirl could see n either side. "The poppies," she said, looking at Harry. "They're supposed to put anyone trying to make it to the City to sleep.

"But that won't matter to me," Supergirl went on. "I can just hold my breath while I carry each of you across to Oz."

"I don't know about that," Harry said uncertainly. "These would be magical poppies, you know — they might affect even _you_."

"In the story," Chloe added. "They didn't affect the Scarecrow or the Tin Man, but Dorothy and the Lion went to sleep. I'm sure Clea would make sure these would affect even a super-powered Kryptonian."

"You're probably right," Supergirl said, unhappily.

"So, how did they make it past these things in that 'movie' you watched?" Harry asked. "I guess they _did_ make past them…"

"Yes." It was Chloe that answered. "Glinda the Good Witch made it snow, which kept the poppies from affecting them. Well," she added, "it also made the Tin Man rust."

"Snow, huh?" Harry said, looking up into the blue sky. "That would have been _really_ hard for a Hogwarts student to pull off — I'm not sure even Professor Dumbledore could make it rain or snow on demand. Fortunately, I've learned quite a bit since I came here; it should be a doss to make it snow." He made several gestures skyward — within a few seconds flakes began to fall.

In a minute's time a layer of snow had coated the entire field of poppies. "Showoff," Supergirl said, but she was smiling at Harry.

"Hey, if you've got it…" Harry shrugged airily. Chloe took Dr. Strange's hand, and the four of them continued down the road toward the Emerald City, gleaming in the distance.

As they approached it became apparent that the City was enormous. Emerald buildings towered above them, stretching into the distance on either side as they neared the first tower. "What do you think?" Chloe asked Harry, quietly.

"If you're asking what I think Clea is up to," Harry answered, "I have no idea."

At last they reached the first building. It had a large double door with a circular port in it. Next to the door was a long cord. Harry reached out and pulled on it; a bell rang out somewhere inside. After a few seconds the port opened and strangely coiffed man glared out at them. "Who rang that bell?" he demanded.

"I did," Harry said.

"Well, can't you read the sign?" the man blustered.

"What sign?" Supergirl asked.

"The sign on the door!" the man said angrily. "Why, it's as clear as the nose on my — er," he faltered for a second, looking around and not seeing what he expected. "It's — er — just a second —" Disappearing for a moment, he reappeared with a sign and hung it on the door, then slammed the portal closed.

The sign read:

DOOR BELL BROKEN  
PLEASE KNOCK

Harry, Chloe and Kara looked at one another, confused. There was a large knocker on the door, and shrugging, Harry reached out and banged it against the door several times.

The man opened the door again, this time beaming at them. "That's more like it!" he exclaimed. "Now, what can do for you?"

"We want to see the Wizard," Harry said. Dr. Strange burbled happily.

The man shook his head. "_Nobody_ gets to see the Wizard — even I've never seen him!"

Supergirl looked disgusted. "Why would Clea send us here to see him, then?"

"Oh!" The man's eyes widened in surprise. "_Clea_ sent you? Well, well, that's a horse of a different color! Come right in, everyone!" The portal slammed shut, and a few seconds later the doors began to slowly open.

"Finally!" Supergirl said. "Clea's name does something good for us!" The four of them stepped inside the doors, into a large hallway of gleaming green. The ceiling rose dizzyingly above them; it was the largest entrance hall any of them had seen. In front of them the man who'd spoke through the portal, dressed in a vivid array of green clothing, waited for them. Behind them, the doors slowly closed.

The four of them stopped before their host. "May we see the Wizard, now?" Harry inquired of him. The man looked at them sadly.

"I'm afraid there's no Wizard here," he said, a bit contritely. "However, we do have a Sorceress you can talk to." Suddenly they were surrounded on all guards holding long halberds and old-fashioned (yet just as lethal-looking) rifles on them.

Supergirl tensed, ready to fight, but Harry muttered, "Don't start anything yet, Kara." She glanced at him mutinously, but remained still. A moment later there was a puff of smoke and Clea appeared before them, this time dressed in a white gown and tiara, and holding a magic wand complete with a sparkling star on its tips.

"Well, here you are!" She tittered, her voice a high falsetto, sounding very unlike her normal self. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it here!"

"Well, we _did_," Harry said, defiantly. "Are you going to hold up your end of the bargain and let Supergirl and the others go, if I stay here with you?"

"We'll see," Clea said, teasingly. "I'm waiting for the rest of your little rescue party to show up and complete the ensemble."

"We're not waiting that long," Supergirl said, and she sped toward the Sorceress, only to stop, motionless, mere inches from reaching her.

"Oh, my dear little girl," Clea laughed. "Haven't you learned that your powers mean nothing here?" The tip of her wand turned green, and as she moved it closer to the Girl of Steel it became obvious that it was hurting her, even motionless as she was. "How does this feel?"

"Stop it!" Chloe shouted. "You're hurting her!"

"No more than she intended for me," Clea sneered. "Why don't you put on your Fate helmet, Miss Sullivan, and try to stop me?"

Chloe glared at her, saying nothing. She had already attempted to don the helmet before they entered the City, but every time she put it on she became paralyzed again. Suddenly the wand flew from Clea's hand, landing yards away. Harry's arm was outstretched — he'd invoked magic that caught Clea off-guard, flinging the wand from her.

"Cut it out, Clea," he told her. "You've got the Orb and the Eye, and you've proven you can beat us — let them go!"

Clea glared contemptuously at Harry. "You don't have a say in what I do, pretty boy — you're here to obey me, not give me orders! Your friends deserve some punishment for daring to challenge me in my own domain, and they'll have it before I let them go!"

Clea turned and swiped an arm at Harry's companions, and all of them fell to the floor, writhing in pain, even Supergirl. "Clea, stop!" Harry shouted. "You don't need to keep doing this! You win — I'll stay!"

"Too easy," Clea shook her head. "If you want me to stop punishing them, you'll have to take it yourself. Do you accept?"

Harry looked at his three friends flailing about on the floor. Clea must be cursing them with something like the Cruciatus Curse, a pain he had experienced a few years ago, in the graveyard in Little Hangleton when Voldemort was restored to his full power. But he immediately said, "I accept."

Clea smiled, and the pain hit him full force, throwing him to the ground. It was like molten metal was flowing through his body. He clenched his teeth, fighting the pain; distantly he could hear the cries of his friends as they implored Clea to stop the torture. But she was bound and determined to break him this time. It was possible she just might…

"All right, that's _enough_," a new voice suddenly came to Harry's ears, and even through his pain he sighed in relief. It was Clark — he had found them somehow!

The pain stopped. "Ah, I see our final two guests have rejoined us," Clea sneered. "Did you get lost, Superman?" Harry rolled shakily onto his side, to see the Man of Steel standing defiantly before Clea and her guards, with Magik and the others behind him.

"We had some preparations to make before returning," Superman said. "Now, it's time for you to restore what you've taken from Dr. Strange and Dr. Fate, and let us leave."

"Or…?" Clea looked amused by the demand.

"Or I'll have to make you," Superman replied, evenly.

"Foolish little Kryptonian!" She laughed, extending her arm and sending a bolt of magic at him. But Superman, raising one hand before him, created a shield that deflected the bolt harmlessly away.

Clea scowled, extending both hands to send even more powerful energy at him, but Superman parried it as well, then sent a bolt of his own that knocked her back several feet.

Clea arched an eyebrow at him in surprise. "Impressive for a low-level wizard like you, Clark! I didn't think you had that in you!"

"Oh, I'm full of surprises," Clark answered. "Will you let us go, now?"

"If you can beat me," Clea said, and the fight was on.

Harry found himself sliding across the floor and behind cover as the room filled with magical bolts of coruscating energy. After a moment Harry dragged himself to the edge of the wall he'd been put behind and peered at the battle. Superman and Clea were casting bolts of energy at one another. The guards had retreated in terror, and the others had taken shelter behind a nearby wall. Where had Clark come up with all this magic? Harry wondered. Had he learned all this at the Academy?

Clea, sensing her opponent was much more powerful than she'd anticipated, brought out the Eye and the Orb of Agamotto, adding their energies to her own. The sudden onslaught of power staggered the Man of Steel, but even their power wasn't enough to defeat him. Slowly, the Man of Tomorrow made his way toward the Sorceress Supreme, deflecting the powerful bolts the Orb sent at him, until finally they stood nearly toe-to-toe. Superman's hands inched forward slowly, until he touched the Orb and the Eye. Instantly the bolts stopped, and the artifacts of the Vishanti were suddenly in Superman's hands.

Clea fell back, screaming. "Noooo!" she shouted. "It's _impossible_! You cannot defeat me!"

"I already have," Superman told her, looking at the artifacts in his hands. Harry was staring , gape-jawed with astonishment, at what just occurred. Clark had somehow beat Clea! "Now, I want you to restore Dr. Strange's intelligence and Miss Sullivan's heart and her ability to use the Fate helmet!"

Clea stared at him sullenly, but gestured toward the two. Strange shook his head as his mental abilities returned. "Thank you, Superman," he said.

Chloe took out the Fate helmet and held it before her. The back opened and she placed it over her face. Her clothing shone brilliantly for a moment , then changed to the yellow and gold Fate uniform. She nodded at Superman, still able to move.

"Now _I_ claim the title of Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension!" Superman stated. "Clea, you are banished to one of your pocket dimensions, to stay there until you learn what it means to be a true leader, not a despot." Clea opened her mouth to argue, but disappeared before she could speak.

The others crowded around Superman. "That was pretty awesome, Kal!" Kara said, as she quickly hugged him then stepped back to let the others speak. She stopped next to Harry, who had stepped up to Clark as well.

"It was amazing," Harry said, holding out his hand. Clark smiled at him.

"We're all glad to have you back, Harry," he said, taking the young wizard's hand.

"Even if it took two years of your time to get here and save you," Illyana added.

When Superman turned to Fate, she reached up, removing her helmet and reverting to Chloe Sullivan once again. "Hi, you," she said. "It's been a long time."

"Hello, Chloe," Superman said, for the first time since they'd seen him again looking a little uncertain about himself. "Miss Rasputin told me you were at the Academy. If I had known—"

"It's alright," Chloe said, holding up a hand to stop him from saying anything else. "Maybe we can talk later, after we're back on Earth."

"I'd like that," Clark said.

Kara, standing next to Harry, smiled. She turned, whispering in his ear, "It looks like my cousin has found an old friend."

Harry looked at her. "It looks like I've found a new one, too," he smiled.

Kara gave him a shy look. "It looks like you have," she agreed. "Are you going back to that school when we get back to Earth?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I doubt it — I learned a lot about magic while I was here, I doubt there's anything else for me to learn there."

"What about your friends?" Kara asked. "Won't they feel like you've abandoned them if you leave now?"

Harry thought about that for a second. He'd been in the Dark Dimension for what felt like two years now, although only a few days had passed on Earth. If anyone felt abandoned it was _him_. Hermione had warned him about Clea, but he hadn't listened. "Well, it's not that long before Christmas, I suppose I can attend the rest of the term before holiday break. What are you going to do?"

Kara shrugged. "Oh, I'll go back to the Kent farm and practice with my powers — get ready to be Supergirl." She was silent a moment. "But I could come visit you at the school every so often, until the break. _If_ you want me to, that is," she added hastily.

Harry grinned at her. "That would be super," he said.

The emerald building around them suddenly shimmered and vanished, leaving them standing in a pastoral green field. "I've restored the Dark Dimension to a less-foreboding place," Superman said. "The inhabitants here will be able to lead normal lives from here on."

"What about Dormammu?" Dr. Strange said, glancing toward Harry. "Was he ever really a threat here?"

"In two years we never had any indication he was interested in this place," Harry said. "I think Clea just used him as an excuse to kidnap me."

"I have set up safeguards to let me know if there are any attempts by Dormammu or any other extradimensional being to invade this domain," Superman said.

Dr. Strange was looking thoughtfully at the Eye and the Orb, now hanging from Superman's neck. "Since Clea was also Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, there is no one holding that title now—unless you plan to claim it as well, Superman," he added, carefully.

"I hadn't thought of that," Superman admitted. "Perhaps that's something you can handle when we return to Earth, Doctor."

"Okay, everyone!" Illyana was saying. "Gather around — we're all going back now." The others stood around her and she concentrated on taking them, not only back to Professor Potter's study, but as close in time to when they left as she could. There was probably no need to tell everyone that her teleportation ability didn't work quite as well through time as she'd like — they'd all find out how close she'd come when they arrived. With a flash of white light below them they all disappeared from the Dark Dimension.

Professor Potter started as six people suddenly appeared in his study. In a nearby chair, Professor Dumbledore looked up, smiling as he saw Harry and the others. "Welcome back," he said genially as everyone looked around, making sure they were back on Earth.

"Yes, yes, welcome back!" Professor Potter echoed. "We were beginning to wonder what had happened. After your first communication with us we didn't hear anything else from you."

"We were a bit…distracted," Chloe said.

"It's been several hours since you left," Professor Dumbledore remarked. He looked at Harry. "From the difference in Mr. Potter's apparent age, time must've passed quite differently in the Dark Dimension than it does here."

"You can say that again," Harry agreed, feelingly. "It felt like two years for me!"

"Goodness gracious!" Professor Potter said. "They must have found you almost immediately!"

"Not quite," Superman said. "But I suppose we have Illyana to thank for bringing us back so close to when we left. How long has it been?"

"About six hours," Dumbledore said, checking his timepiece. "A remarkable feat, if Miss Rasputin was able to accomplish that."

"Aw, shucks," Illyana said, with mock modesty. ""T'weren't nothing…"

Superman stepped next to Chloe. "Well, if you'll excuse us, Miss Sullivan and I have some things to discuss. In private."

"Superman, wait," Dr. Strange said. "We should discuss —" But Superman had already gathered up Chloe in his arms and disappeared at super-speed.

"That's not a bad idea," Harry said to Supergirl. Now that they were both back on Earth, their bodies were absorbing yellow radiation, replenishing their own super-powers; Harry could feel the familiar surge of power building within him. "D'you want a tour of the school, Kara? I can introduce you to my friends Ron and Hermione."

"I'd love to, Harry," Kara smiled. They both disappeared as well.

"My goodness!" Professor Potter exclaimed. "The room sure emptied out in a hurry!"

**Author's Note: As always, reviews are requested, and I appreciate your comments and input!**


	21. Debut

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty-One  
****Debut**

_Updated June 24, 2011_

The return of a taller, older-looking Harry to the Academy set off an avalanche of speculation on what had happened to him over the next several weeks leading up to the Christmas break. Rumors were flying about the cafeteria and many classrooms on what had happened to Harry.

Naturally, many of the students looked to Harry's friends for information, but little was forthcoming. When questioned, Ginny would only frown and say, "I haven't talked with him about what happened — maybe you should ask his new _girlfriend_," for Harry had been seen walking around the corridors with a new girl, a blonde who'd been identified as Linda Lee. Linda didn't seem to be taking any classes, however, and no one knew which dorm room she was staying in, if any.

Ron and Hermione, with whom Harry had shared some of the details of his time in the Dark Dimension, had promised to say nothing to the other students. Predictably, however, Ron could not resist dropping subtle hints about where Harry had been for four days, and why he now looked two years older than before. Those hints fueled some wild speculations about what had happened to Harry Potter — that he'd taken an Aging Potion, or that he'd gone back to Britain where Voldemort cursed him into aging two (or three, or five) years.

Harry himself wasn't talking. It wouldn't do any good, he reasoned, to bring up more speculation about Dormammu and Clea — Dormammu had never appeared and Clea was now exiled to some pocket domain of the Dark Dimension, unable to return for some time. What had amazed him most about the time he'd spent there was what had happened at the end, when Superman beat her in a magic duel. And now Clark was Sorcerer Supreme of both the Dark Dimension and Earth! He must've learned a _lot_ about magic in the Academy's Library; after all Harry, after training with her for two years, still couldn't overcome Clea in her home dimension.

That realization kicked Harry into high gear — he began an intensive regimen t to complete his reading of the rest of the books in the Library before the end of term in December. Not that he wanted to _outdo_ Clark, but Harry had been a wizard for five years before he and Clark had the accident that transferred some of their powers to each other. He'd never been in Hermione's league as far as understanding magical theory, but now, with super-memory and the energy he absorbed from Earth's sun giving him additional magical power, he had an advantage no other wizard possessed. If Kara planned to become a superhero, then with Clark's help, perhaps Harry could do more than just become an Auror — he could become a Super-Auror!

Or something like that, Harry added wryly to himself. He still hadn't had a chance to talk to Clark about this, however — Kara had told him his mentor had been spending time with Chloe Sullivan for the past few weeks; she would disappear after classes were over, saying she was going to see Clark. Kara was pleased that her cousin was spending time with a woman, Harry discovered — she told him that Clark still harbored some feelings for Lois Lane, and Chloe seemed to be drawing him out of his self-imposed shell, making him interested in the goings-on in the world. It would be good, Harry thought, to see him back in the sky, protecting people once again.

"Harry?" Harry looked up from the book he'd been speed reading — he was lucky he'd been thinking about other things at that moment instead of flipping through 50 pages a second at high speed. Inwardly he groaned — it was Ginny.

"Hi, Ginny," he said, mentally bookmarking the page he was on and closing the book. "Uh, how are you?"

"Fine," she answered, in a tone that clearly said, _not fine_. She sat down across from him. "It's just been a while since we talked."

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry agreed, a bit uncomfortably. The last time they'd talked, she'd gotten into a shouting match with him about Clea. Both she and Hermione had been _right_ about Clea, but that was beside the point — Harry had given the sorceress the benefit of the doubt, and his instincts had been wrong, but he'd learned his lesson. A hard lesson, two years' worth, but he'd ended up much more magically powerful than he ever would have been, otherwise. "So, um, what's on your mind, Gin?"

"Your friend, Linda," Ginny answered immediately. Harry kept his face neutral. Kara had been using her cover name, Linda Lee, while at the school.

"What about her?" Harry wanted to know. He had a sinking feeling Ginny was going back on the prowl for him.

"Well, are you serious about her?" Ginny was giving him a penetrating stare.

"_I_ don't know," Harry answered, not wanting to say, "I might be."

"You don't _know_?" Ginny looked surprised. "You could have fooled me — you hang out with her every chance you get! Are you just playing her, like you played me?"

Harry frowned. "I never played you, Ginny. You tried to get me to go out with _you_, not the other way around."

Ginny stood. "Oh, is _that_ how you remember it, Harry Potter? That's not what Hermione told me!"

"What?" Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Hermione and I never talked about you!" There had been a time when he liked Ginny, after he and Cho Chang broke up, but now that time seemed remote, disconnected, by his time in the Dark Dimension. "Hermione said more to _me_ about _you_ then I ever said to her!"

"Right." Ginny was beginning to turn red, the way Ron sometimes did when Hermione got him worked up. "I suppose she just made up all that stuff she told me you said about liking me!"

This was getting surreal. "Ginny, I don't know what she said, but —"

"Stop!" Ginny said. "I don't want to hear it! If you want to have your fun with that — that _girl_, go ahead, but don't come running back to me when she dumps you!" Ginny turned and fled the Library, leaving Harry upset and confused. What the hell had just happened? He followed her with his X-ray vision, watching as she ran back, not to her dorm room, but to Hermione's. What would she say to Hermione?

Harry tried to listen with his enhanced hearing, but lack of practice for two years made it difficult to isolate their conversion — he was hearing everyone in the school talking at once! When he finally tuned in on them, he heard:

"— _can't really know what Harry is thinking these days_," Hermione was saying. "_He doesn't confide much in me anymore_."

"_He doesn't say anything to Ron either_," Ginny added. "_Though Ron said he knew Harry was getting into something with Clea._" Harry was pretty sure he hadn't said anything to Ron about Clea — it was actually Hermione he'd mentioned that to, and he'd talked to Clark about it as well.

"_I _warned_ Harry about Clea_," Hermione was saying.

"_Apparently that didn't convince him_," Ginny said, sardonically. "_And now he's running around with that _bint_ Linda Lee_!" she added savagely. "_Nobody at school even knows where she comes from, and she just walks in here like she owns the place! I can't stand her_!"

This was beginning to piss Harry off, and he discontinued listening. But he calmed down after a minute — after all, he could understand how Ginny felt; he'd sort of felt the same way after seeing Cho Chang with Michael Corner. But only "sort of" — he had lost any real interest in her after her friend Marietta Edgecombe nearly exposed Dumbledore's Army to Dolores Umbridge and the Ministry, and she tried to excuse herself to him. He would have to talk with Ron about this — maybe he could fill Harry in on what had been going on with Ginny and Hermione.

=ooo=

"Bring in the final prisoner," Chief Warlock Dumbledore ordered.

Luthor was brought into Courtroom Ten, escorted by two silent, grim-faced Aurors. Luthor looked around at the assemblage of purple-robed wizards seated on the benches of the courtroom. _This was not good_, he thought. He was even more uncomfortable with the fact that the lone chair on the floor of the courtroom was draped with heavy chains. It looked positively medieval.

The two men placed Luthor in the chair, then stepped back, apparently expecting the chains to encircle him. But nothing happened.

"Before we begin, Mr. Luthor," Dumbledore said, speaking pleasantly bur formally. "Do you have any questions?"

"Yes," Luthor said, immediately. "Haven't you people ever heard of cruel and unusual punishment? This is not how the American judicial system treats alleged lawbreakers!"

"I'm sure they do not, Mr. Luthor," Dumbledore answered. "But you will notice, I think, that you are not in America. Now, do you require representation?"

"I'll represent myself," Luthor declared. There were murmurings from the benches.

"Are you quite sure, Mr. Luthor?" Dumbledore inquired. "You may have heard that old saying, 'anyone who represents himself in court has an idiot for a lawyer and a fool for a client.'"

"That might be true for most," Luthor smirked, "but not for me."

"As you wish," Dumbledore sighed. "We will proceed, then." He glanced toward the Court Scribe, who nodded in return and leaned forward over his parchment, quill in hand.

"This hearing," Dumbledore began, " on this twelfth day of December, in the year nineteen hundred and ninty-six, concerns offenses allegedly committed by one Alexander Luthor, also known as Lex Luthor, against the Wizarding community of Britain.

"The Interrogators for this hearing are Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock; Rufus Scrimgeor, Minister of Magic; Kingsley Shacklebolt, Acting Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department; and Court Scribe, Rufus Fudge."

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles absently. "The charges: that the accused, Alexander Luthor, did attempt to illegally obtain possession of the artifact known as the Philosopher's Stone on or about the fourth of November, 1996 from the residence of one Nathan Fine, of Greenwich Village, New York, in the United States of America; that he did assault, coerce or otherwise compel Mr. Fine in order to obtain this artifact, and that he did unlawfully alter the mind of one Dedalus Diggle, a resident of Smeeth in Kent, causing him to believe he was an ally of Luthor's, and acting in a manner hostile to other wizards.

"How do you plead to these charges, Mr. Luthor?" Dumbledore concluded.

Luthor was silent for several moments. "Not guilty," he finally answered. "On all counts."

"So noted," Dumbledore glanced toward Rufus Fudge, the Court Scribe.

"Before this goes any further," Luthor interjected. "I'd like to move for a dismissal of the charges." A wave of muttering went around the courtroom as the Wizengamot digested this.

"And what is your basis for this motion?" Dumbledore asked.

"On the basis of unlawful extradition," Luthor said. "I was removed from my home country without due process and brought here to England to answer for charges without fulfilling the requirements of dual criminality."

"Theft is a crime in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, Mr. Luthor," Dumbledore pointed out. "As is assault and battery."

"By your definition, 'Muggles' do not even know that wizards exist," Luthor countered. "There cannot be dual criminality when one society does not even know the other society is present."

"But _you_ knew, Mr. Luthor," Rufus Scrimgeour put in. "And you were the perpetrator —"

"_Alleged_ perpetrator," Luthor wagged a finger at him. "Let's don't go convicting me before the trial has even begun."

"The Wizengamot has an order of extradition from the United States Department of Magical Justice," Dumbledore held up a piece of paper. "So your motion is overruled. We will continue with witnesses for the prosecution." He turned to a sallow-faced man sitting nearby. "Severus, if you will please take the stand."

Snape rose and descended to the floor of the courtroom, then took the chair as Luthor vacated it to stand nearby, frowning. _What was this greasy-looking wizard doing here_? he wondered. He'd outsmarted Snape once before, but…

Oh, of course — Polyjuice Potion! It became instantly apparent that Snape had been posing as Flamel. He'd played the part well, Luthor had to admit — he'd been much too intent on obtaining the Philosopher's Stone to check Flamel's _bona fides_.

"Will you please state your name and residence?" Dumbledore began.

"Severus Snape, residing outside Manchester in Lancashire," Snape answered, in a clipped voice.

"And your current occupation?" Dumbledore continued.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Snape replied. "Before that I was the Potions Master at the school from 1980 to the end of the summer tern in 1996," he added, with a glance toward Luthor.

"Would you please relate to the court the events that took place on the fourth of November?"

Snape described his altercation with Luthor, disguised as Nicholas Flamel. He had used Polyjuice Potion, as Luthor suspected, using a few of Flamel's hairs to make his resemblance to the ancient alchemist complete.

"Objection," Luthor stood. "If Nicholas Flamel is dead, as Chief Wizard Dumbledore contends, then how could he have gotten any of his hairs?"

"Professor Snape, will you explain?" Dumbledore asked.

"I have a vial of Flamel's hair in my private stores, taken a few days before he died," Snape answered.

"How did you come by these hairs?" Luthor challenged. "As I was given to understand, Flamel was quite secretive—he trusted no one who might steal his Stone."

"They were given to me by Professor Dumbledore," Snape replied.

"And Nicholas trusted me implicity," Dumbledore interjected. A small smile quirked the corner of Snape's mouth as Dumbledore added, "Objection overruled."

Snape recounted the rest of his dialogue with Luthor, including his seeming invulnerability to Legilimency, Oblivation and Stunning spells, and his knowledge of Order of the Phoenix members and other details of the Wizarding world.

"That concludes the Wizengamot's questioning of Professor Snape," Dumbledore finally announced. "Does the accused wish to direct questions to the professor?"

Luthor knew he would have to impeach the credibility of this witness if he was to have any chance of acquittal. Fortunately, he'd learned a few things from Diggle after the diminutive wizard had been brainwashed and duped into becoming his accomplice. "Yes I would, Chief Wizard." Luthor walked slowly around the back of the chair Snape sat in, heightening tension. Finally, he stopped next to chair, leaning toward Snape as he snapped, "Is it true that you were a Death Eater, Professor?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "A _former_ Death Eater," he replied laconically; distaste from Luthor's proximity to him radiated from him.

"I've heard that the only way to leave the Death Eaters is by death," Luthor sneered.

"Nevertheless," interjected Dumbledore, "Professor Snape is no longer affiliated with Voldermort's —" Many members of the Wizengamot's winced at the name "— Death Eaters. The Wizengamot has already cleared him of all charges in crimes related to Death Eater activity, and I personally vouch for his loyalty."

Well, that line of attack was a dead end, Luthor realized. o

However, there was another way he could go at Snape. "You and I have met before today, have we not?" Luthor asked.

Snape looked quite unhappy at this question. "Yes," he finally said, reluctantly.

"Will you relate the details of that meeting?" Luthor asked, sounding smug.

"Technically, we did _not_ actually meet," Snape declared. "When I entered your office and spoke to you, you were using Muggle technology to project an image of yourself, lifelike in all respects, though your real body was somewhere else."

"True, but irrelevant," Luthor said dismissively. "For all practical purposes we met, though you were unable to cast any spells on me, as you attempted to do."

"What spells did you attempt to cast, Professor Snape?" Minister of Magic Scrimgeour asked.

Snape turned to the Minister. "Per the guidelines for Muggles with unauthorized information about the Wizarding world, I attempted an Obliviate spell on Mr. Luthor. When that failed, I attempted a Stunner spell. Both spells failed. I was also unable to read his thoughts via Legilimency." Snape looked chagrinned at having to say this.

"So the information I learned from you at that meeting remained intact with me?" Luthor pressed.

"It would seem so," Snape sniffed.

"So you would have reason to want some payback?" Luthor suggested, smiling broadly.

"I would have reason," Snape admitted candidly, "But instead of seeking retribution against you, I informed Professor Dumbledore of our meeting and he told me he would take care of you. And now, here you are."

Luthor was silent, thinking. _What else could he do to impeach this witness_? The unhappy answer was, nothing. "No more questions," he said, and Snape slid off the chair and resumed his seat in the Wizengamot's gallery.

Next, a thoroughly humbled Dedalus Diggle took the stand and told how he'd been captured by Luthor's men and brainwashed into being his ally, raising murmurs throughout the courtroom, along with dark glances directed toward Luthor.

After Diggle's testimony, he scrambled down from the chair and Luthor replaced him once again. Dumbledore looked around the courtroom for several moments before continuing. "Mr. Luthor, do you have anything to say before the court makes its determination of your guilt or innocence?"

Luthor stood, looking around the courtroom. Most of the faces staring down at him were stony or frowning. It looked hopeless; he would have to use all his knowledge and eloquence to talk his way out of this. Fortunately, he'd planned ahead.

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot," he said. "I stand before you a humbled and contrite man. While my goal was a lofty, to join your ranks of wizardry, my methods were — well, shall we say, a bit unorthodox.

"I would like to point out," he continued, "that according to Professor Snape's testimony, I could not have perpetrated the crime for which I am accused — the theft of the Philosopher's Stone, since according to Grand Wizard Dumbledore it has been destroyed.

"I have learned my lesson, however. I will no longer attempt to become a wizard — in fact, I suggest that you Obliviate my memories of your existence, to ensure that I will not try again."

"That is an interesting proposal, Mr. Luthor," Dumbledore mused. "You are admitting your guilt in this matter, is that correct?"

Luthor made a gesture of acquiescence. "It would be foolish to deny it, based on the evidence presented." _And_ his an ace-in-the-hole, back on the _Alexandria_, was a set of video journals that would bring him back up to speed on everything that had happened, if they _did_ wipe his memories.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "The court will now render its sentence. You are hereby confined to the wizard prison of Azkaban for the rest of your life."

Luthor's jaw dropped.

"Normally," Dumbledore went on, "while Obliviation would be the normal sentence carried out for a Muggle, we deem you too dangerous to be allowed to roam free, with or without your memories. Imprisonment will begin immediately. Gentlemen," he gestured to the Aurors. "You may take the prisoner to Azkaban now."

"Wait!" Luthor cried, as the Aurors took both of his arms, to lead him out of the room. "You can't do this to me! I want a retrial! I want a lawyer!"

The Aurors were almost to the door of the courtroom when Dumbledore spoke once more. "Oh, one more thing you should know, Mr. Luthor."

The Aurors stopped and faced the center bench once more. "What's that?" Luthor asked.

"I'm sure you suspect that Harry Potter acquired his powers from Superman in some way. What you may not have realized is that Superman also acquired something from Harry — specifically, the ability to perform magic."

"What?" Luthor blanched. "You mean I could perform magic?"

Dumbledore made a gesture of agreement. "Well, you had the capability, but performing magic is much more than simply possessing the physical ability — you must also be trained in magic, and use a wand to focus that magic through spells. It takes from five to seven years to train a wizard properly.

"Fortunately, you will not have the chance, now, as no wands are allowed inside the cells of Azkaban. You should be grateful that the Dementors have left the prison, or you would find it much more intolerable. Goodbye." He waved to the Aurors, and they spun Luthor around to leave.

"No! It's not fair—!" Luthor shouted, but his voice cut off as the door to Courtroom Ten slammed shut behind him.

=ooo=

Ginny wandered into the main foyer of the Academy, clutching a book of magic she was supposed to be reading for an Alterations class, but which she had barely glanced at. She sat down on one of the benches, opening the book, but after a few seconds she was simply staring at the words rather than reading; she was too distracted, too frustrated and too disgusted to care, however. Her mind was on Harry, as it had been since she'd seen him with that — that stupid git of a blonde, Linda Lee.

Things were not working out the way she'd planned when she agreed to accompany Harry, Ron and Hermione to this school. True, she'd learned some amazing magic in the past four months — how to cast spells wandlessly, and with much greater precision than she'd been able to achieve before. Even though the grading system here was a bit twisted — instead of the familiar O, E, A, P, D, T, they used A, B, C, D and F. And they didn't even stand for anything! Even so, most of her grades were A's and B's.

But that wasn't what was frustrating her. Ever since she'd caught a glimpse of Harry, looking so uncertain and alone, on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of his first year there, he'd been on her mind. She hadn't seen him again until nearly a year later, when she came down to the Burrow's kitchen and found him having breakfast with three of her older brothers. She'd squealed like a little girl, then turned and ran back upstairs, mortified by her behavior and her state of undress (she had still been in her nightclothes). Then she caught Fred's remark about her wanting Harry's autograph, and was sure he would never speak to her now.

But he'd saved her, saved her from that wretched diary, the one that made her do unspeakable things, things she couldn't remember, even after Fred and George had described them to her in detail. Harry had tried to comfort her, but he'd behaved awkwardly, as if his heart wasn't really in the reassuring words he told her. And now — well, she was just going to have to find a way to get Harry's mind off of Linda Lee, and back on her.

Someone entered the foyer from the front doors, but Ginny kept her head down, opening the book and pretending to read it. Whoever it was, she hoped they would pass her without comment. But the person's footsteps were getting closer, until she could see her feet, just in front of her.

"Hello." Ginny looked up, barely keeping her face from twisting with anger. It was that Lee girl! "You're Ginny Weasley, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Ginny said, coldly. "So?"

"Harry's told me about you," Linda said. "He's introduced me to your brother Ron and to Hermione Granger, but I haven't had a chance to meet you yet." She extended a hand. "I'm Linda Lee, I'm pleased to meet you."

Ginny didn't take her hand. "Well, it's nice to finally meet you, Linda," she said, sarcasm in her voice. "I was wondering if Harry would ever bring you round to see me."

Linda withdrew her hand uncertainly. This girl had known Harry longer than she had, and Harry had mentioned that she'd had a crush on him at one time, though she'd since gone out with other boys. Was it possible those feelings were still active?

"I just want to say that Harry and I aren't —"

"Just hold it," Ginny interrupted. She stood. They were about the same height; Ginny had perhaps an inch on the other girl, and she glowered at Linda. "I don't give a stuff what you've got to say. How are you even able to come here — you're not a witch, are you?"

"I have your Dean's permission to be on the Academy grounds," Linda said, calmly.

"Why?" Ginny demanded.

"Well — I'd rather not say," Linda demurred. "But I get the impression you don't really care, anyway."

"Bloody right," Ginny agreed, hotly. "Maybe you should just leave now."

"I'm here to see Harry," Linda shook her head. "I'll leave after I talk to him."

"Oh?" Ginny said, archly. "Well, maybe I can persuade you otherwise —" Her hand shot out suddenly and she fired off a Bat-Bogey Hex, directly toward Linda's face.

But surprisingly, even though there was only five feet between them, the hex somehow _missed_. It was as if the magical bolt went through Linda without affecting her! Linda frowned at her. "Stop that," she said, quietly. "We don't have to fight."

"Afraid to have a go?" Ginny sneered. She was stockier than Linda, and kept herself pretty fit — the demands of Quidditch had toughened her up. "If you can't duel, then maybe you'd like a good old-fashioned fight."

Linda took a step back. This was getting out of hand! It certainly wasn't that she was afraid of Ginny — her strength level was far beyond anything a normal human — or witch, for that matter — could withstand. "I _don't_ want to fight you, Ginny," she said again.

"Too bad," Ginny retorted, and stepped forward, launched a swing at Linda's face. But that face was suddenly several inches to her right, and Ginny's fist connected only air. She pulled her fists back in a boxing stance, then jabbed toward where her face was now. But _again_ it suddenly moved, and she missed once more.

A final time Ginny's fist flew toward Linda's face. Linda's left hand came up, catching the fist in mid-flight, stopping it cold. Linda was careful not to crush the young witch's hand, though she was tempted to snap a few bones just to make her point. Instead, she put her right hand on Ginny's stomach and lifted, raising her above her head. Ginny screeched and flailed, but was unable to break free of Linda's grasp.

"I hope I'm making my point," Linda said, looking up at her. "You're not going to win in a fight against me." She let Ginny drop, who landed on her feet and staggered back, staring at the other girl in surprise. "Now, I'm going to go find Harry." She already knew where he was, having scanned the building with her X-ray vision as she'd entered. "I'm not going to say anything about this to him — whether you tell anyone or not is your business." Ginny simply glared at her as Linda walked out of the foyer toward the cafeteria. Somehow, someway, she swore to herself, she was going to get Harry back, and this stupid bint wasn't going to stand in her way!

=ooo=

The next day, a Friday, was the last day of term before Christmas break. Harry had spent most of the day in the Library, as usual, but he'd managed to read the last few dozen books left that he hadn't gotten to earlier. Now, with all the books there committed to memory, he was ready to leave the Academy. "Jonathan Clark," Clark's alter-ego at the school, had never returned to classes, either. From what Professor Sullivan had said, and what Illyana had told Harry during private conversions, she and Clark had certainly rekindled some kind of relationship, probably from their secondary school days together, though Clark had never mentioned her before.

Harry had come back to his dorm room before the end of classes, packing up his things at super-speed before Ron or Dalton got back. He set his trunk on the floor beside his bed, then sat down, looking through several walls into Hermione's room; not surprising, she was mostly packed as well. Smiling slightly, he refocused his vision on Ginny's room. She hadn't packed yet, but her area was neat and tidy, her clothing folded and tucked into the drawers that were hers. Her robes were hung neatly in the closet; it should take her only a few minutes to pack.

Ron's area, however, could properly be called a "mess." His clothing was stuffed haphazardly into his drawers or strewn about on the floor beside his bed. The same was true of his robes; Harry reckoned he just picked up the cleanest one he could find and wore it during classes.

Harry debated whether to pack Ron's things for him, finally decided to wait and help him when he got out of class. There was also something Harry needed to talk with Ron about, and Hermione, too, that being his decision not to return to the Academy. He could imagine them being upset; he'd be upset, too, if his best friend had dragged him thousands of miles from home to a strange school, then left halfway through. There just wasn't anything left here for him to learn. Also, he had to admit to himself, he wanted to spend some time with Kara back on the Kent farm as Clark trained her in the use of her super-powers. Kara wanted to go public as Supergirl, just as her cousin had years before.

As for Clark, Harry wondered when he would return to the public eye. He shook his head — it was hard to imagine that Clark was now _Sorcerer Supreme_ of both Earth and the Dark Dimension! He had promised to return the Eye and the Orb of Agamotto to Dr. Strange, making him Sorcerer Supreme of Earth once more, but Harry didn't know if he'd done that yet. Harry suspected that he was talking with Chloe Sullivan, who was also Dr. Fate, on the best use of his magical powers, though the way he'd defeated Clea pretty much showed he had learned quite a bit already. But then, Harry knew, there was always something to learn about the magical arts.

Dalton, his other roommate, walked into the room, glanced at Harry's trunk, and sneered, "Can't wait to get out of here, can you, Potter? You haven't been in classes for the past month — they too hard for you?"

Apparently Dalton hadn't believed any of the rumors that had been flying around the school after Harry's return. He'd started a few of his own, Harry knew — like the rumor that Harry had botched a spell and aged himself two years over the four days he was "missing," as Dalton had sarcastically put it. "I'm sure you're going to miss me, Grimsdale," he replied, coolly. Dalton would never know just how much magical knowledge Harry had acquired in the past two years of subjective time in the Dark Dimension.

"At least Ginger Ron stuck it out in class," Dalton continued, still rubbing in Harry's lack of attendance (or so he thought). Harry ignored the comment. "So now what?" Dalton asked. "Going back to merry old England to flip burgers — or maybe fish 'n' chips?"

"I thought I'd go visit Linda during the break," Harry answered, and in truth that's what he planned to do. Dalton frowned slightly, then shrugged indifferently, as if he didn't care, but Kara had told him that Grimsdale had tried to hit on her a week or so ago, when she was walking out of the school to head back to Kansas. She'd rebuffed him pretty thoroughly, Harry remembered with a small smile on his lips.

"Well, don't go knocking her up," Dalton remarked nastily.

Harry looked up at him sharply. "Don't say crap like that!"

Dalton snorted. "Or you'll what?"

The remark pissed Harry off. He was tired of putting up with Grimsdale's taunts and insults, and in a moment he was off his bed and pressing Dalton against the dorm room door, before the other boy knew what had happened. But as soon as he'd done it, he realized how fast he'd moved. "Just — don't," he warned Dalton, then stepped back and returned to the bed.

Dalton stood against the door for several seconds, his face white. He made a show of adjusting his robes, turned and opened the door. Halfway through, he turned back to Harry. "You better watch your step, Potter," he said, with false bravado. "If you're caught fighting, you'll be expelled."

"Oh, I'm all a-quiver," Harry said, mocking Dalton's attempt to intimidate him.

"Just wait and see," Dalton growled, and left the room. Harry snorted derision; Dalton was such a git. He was about to change his mind and start picking up Ron's things when Ron came in, dropping his bookbag on his bed and flopping over beside it.

"Man, am I knackered," Ron said, looking at the ceiling. "I'm glad that's it for this term — ready to go home and see Mum and Dad again. I'll even be glad to let Fred and George take the mickey out of me." He looked over at Harry, then at the trunk on the floor beside him. "You packed already?"

"Yeah," Harry said, a bit distractedly as he was still trying to find a way to broach the subject of his decision to leave the Academy. "You want some help?"

"In a bit," Ron sighed, lying back and closing his eyes. "I just want to enjoy being done with classes for a few minutes." There was a long silence as Ron lay looking at the ceiling and Harry sat watching Ron. So distracted was Harry with trying to find a way to tell Ron he wouldn't be coming back next term that he was startled by a knock at the door. Glancing through it, he saw Hermione on the other side.

"Come in, Hermione," Harry called. Hermione stepped into the room, giving him a perplexed look.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"I recognized your knock," Harry said.

If Hermione was convinced by that explanation she said nothing about it, but instead asked, "I'm about to get packed. Harry, are you going to stay at the Burrow? I'm going to visit my parents for a day or so for an early Christmas, then I'll join you there."

"Well, er —" Harry hesitated a moment. "Actually, I was going to visit my friend Clark." Ron sat up suddenly.

"What? You're not coming to the Burrow? Everybody's looking forward to seeing you again, Harry!"

"Yeah, well…" Harry looked a bit uncomfortable. He didn't really want to be around Ginny, not after Kara had told him of the altercation between them. "I can probably drop by sometime."

"In time for Christmas?" Ron pressed. He wasn't too happy either — the idea of Harry preferring some American over his long-time friend didn't sit too well with him. "Mum has been working on a present for you."

_Another sweater, most likely_, Harry thought to himself. Every year Mrs. Weasley knitted new sweaters for her sons — and since Harry began going to Hogwarts, one for him as well. "I'll be over for Christmas, yeah," he agreed. He just didn't say _when_ he'd be over.

Hermione was giving him a penetrating look. She may have suspected what he was thinking — he wasn't sure if Ginny had told her about the fight with Kara, but he would have bet she mentioned something about it. "What?" he finally said to her.

"Nothing," Hermione sighed. She knew better than to say anything concerning Harry and Ginny in front of Ron; it tended to upset him. "But I was just thinking," she added shrewdly. "Perhaps we can go with you for a visit as well."

"Er —" Harry didn't care for that idea, it was going to put a crimp in his time with Kara, not to mention the possibility of exposing her secret identity to Ron and Hermione. "It's, er, pretty short notice, don't you think?"

But Ron had sat up on his bed as well. "Sounds brilliant!" he said enthusiastically. "He lives on some kind of farm, doesn't he? I'm sure Mum and Dad won't mind if Ginny and I stay over — we've had you over loads of time, Harry; it won't hurt if we don't make it back to the Burrow until the summer break."

"I don't know if there's room for all of us," Harry temporized. He knew quite well that the Kent farmhouse had four bedrooms in it — one for Mrs. Kent, one for Clark, and he and Ron could stay in one room; but that meant that Kara, Hermione and Ginny would have to split the fourth bedroom. Given the ill feelings between Ginny and Kara, it would make for an awkward situation.

But neither of his friends was thinking about that, even if they knew anything about Ginny's attempts to lure him into a relationship. Hermione was smiling brightly at Harry. He was pretty sure she _did_ know something about him and Ginny. "I think it will be quite interesting to visit the Kent farm, Harry."

"And," Ron continued, "When the winter term starts we'll be able to teleport from Kansas back to Montana, rather than having to take a Portkey home."

"It's called a Teleport Key," Hermione corrected him absently.

Harry opened his mouth to tell them that he wouldn't be coming back next term, but closed it without saying anything. He could tell them once they were at the Kent farm and settled in. Yeah, it would be simpler that way, he reasoned.

It didn't take long to pack Ron's things; with Harry's help they were finished in about ten minutes. Hermione had left to pack her own things and check on Ginny; they agreed to meet in the foyer at 4:30. Most of the students had already left the school, only the four ex-Gryffindors and several of the school proctors. Ron, predictably, spent more time talking than packing, so Harry had to pick up the slack to get his things ready by the agreed-upon time. Ron also hadn't yet noticed that Harry had packed _all_ of his things, not merely what he would need for the two-week holiday. "Good enough," he said, with about half of his own clothes packed away, on the off-chance that he could get someone to wash them.

Harry felt a bit guilty about not saying anything about his plans, but kept quiet anyway. The hardest part would be telling Professor Potter about his plan not to return to the school — the old fellow had been overjoyed to have him there, along with his friends. But he would understand his intention was to help Clark — at least, Harry hoped he would.

=ooo=

The group appeared about halfway along the driveway to the Kent farm. Hermione and Ron looked around. In spite of the cold, windy day, Hermione looked quite happy, while Ron pointed to the barn with the farming equipment in it. Ginny was silent; Harry could feel her eyes on him even as he looked toward the farmhouse. She had not looked happy when Ron told her they were going to the Kent farm, but there had been a subtle quirk on her lips that had made Harry feel uneasy. "Come on," he said. "Let's go tell Mrs. Kent we're here."

Harry was tempted to look through the walls and see where Mrs. Kent and Kara were in the house, but he resisted the temptation; it would be invading their privacy to do so without good reason. Besides, he could hear Mrs. Kent humming a song inside the house; she was evidently occupying herself with some activity. There also seemed to be a muffled conversation going on, but for some reason Harry couldn't focus on it, even concentrating as hard as he could under the circumstances.

On the porch, Harry knocked on the front door. A few moments later Mrs. Kent answered. "Well hello, Harry!" she smiled warmly at him, then looked at the others. "Who are your friends?"

"This is Hermione Granger," Harry said, indicating Hermione. "And this is Ron and Ginny Weasley. They thought they'd like to visit for a bit over the holidays."

"Well, come in out of the cold," Martha told them, and the four students stepped inside. "How long are you out of school?" she asked, looking toward Hermione.

"Two weeks," Hermione said. "We go back on January sixth."

Martha was smiling at Ginny. "My, you have lovely hair, dear," she said.

"Thanks," Ginny said smiling slightly in spite of her foul mood. It was not hard to guess why Harry wanted to come here — that _girl_ was around here somewhere as well, Ginny just _knew_ it. Hermione thought this would be an opportunity for Ginny to find time alone with Harry again, but with that Lee girl around, she would have little chance of getting through to him. "I hope it's okay for us to barge in like this — Ron thought it would be fun to visit a farm, but he doesn't always consider other people's time."

Ron looked outraged by this remark, but — "Oh no, dear" Martha said, gently. "Believe me, it's a gift to have Harry's friends visit with him." She pointed to the kitchen. "I just finished baking a couple of chocolate pies — why don't you all come into the kitchen and have some, and we can all get acquainted?"

The five of them sat in the kitchen, eating pie and drinking ice cold milk. Harry was pleased to see that Hermione and Ron had both taking a liking to Mrs. Kent, talking animatedly with her about their school subjects. Ron, particularly, was fascinated by the idea of a Muggle that seemed to understand they were wizards, but was completely at ease with them. Even Ginny was enjoying the food and laughing with them.

Finally Harry could no longer resist, and risked a quick look through the ceiling into the room he knew was Kara's. But she wasn't there, and he wondered where she might be. That low, muffled conversation was still going on somewhere in the house, but no matter how Harry tried, his enhanced hearing couldn't focus on it. His gaze shifted around, looking through several walls into adjoining rooms, searching for its source. He soon came to a room his vision couldn't penetrate.

That was odd! The room wasn't sheathed in lead, the only substance his vision couldn't penetrate — so what kept him from seeing into it?

Harry suddenly realized — he hadn't seen Clark yet. "Mrs. Kent," he asked, "Is Clark around?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's around somewhere," Martha replied, a bit mysteriously. "He's entertaining a friend."

Harry's eyebrow went up. "Really?" he said, even though he had a pretty good idea who: Chloe Sullivan. He wondered what would happen if his school mates found one of his teachers here with Clark. Clark was supposed to be "in the know" about magic, but no one knew he was now magical himself. "I wonder who that could be?" he said, feigning ignorance.

"I'm sure you'll meet her before long," Mrs. Kent said, going along with his ruse. No one was supposed to know that Clark had visited the school as Superman and took Miss Sullivan away for private conversations. "She's quite an interesting person," Martha added.

But there was no appearance from Clark that day, or from Kara, leaving Harry wondering what had happened to the two Kryptonians. He spent the rest of the afternoon showing Ron and Hermione around the farm, while Ginny, like her mother, preferred to spend time in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Kent prepare supper for them that evening. Harry also suspected she was trying to get information from Mrs. Kent about him, but he resisted listening in on their conversation.

The muffled conversations he'd heard in the house had stopped, but he still couldn't penetrate that one room which, he learned, was now Clark's study. Whatever had been going on in there, it now seemed empty. Since neither Clark nor Kara were there, either, Harry assumed they had been in there but had left. Without him. The thought rankled Harry; he had hoped to be part of Kara's training, and perhaps pick up a few more pointers from Clark as well.

The next morning after breakfast, Ron and Hermione pested Harry into taking a trip into Smallville itself, to see what a small American Muggle town looked like. Ginny decided to go along as well, having gotten bored with kitchen work. It was a few miles from the Kent farm to the outskirts of Smallville, but with the ability to teleport they covered the distance in mere seconds, next to a billboard that proclaimed

**Welcome to Smallville  
****Population: 18,001  
****"The Biggest Small Town in Kansas"**

"Eighteen thousand people," Hermione remarked, looking at the sign. "That's a _lot_ bigger than Hogsmeade, I'd say."

"Still not anywhere close to London, though, is it?" Ron put in.

"Oh, of course not," Hermione said. "It should be interesting to see what it's like, compared to either one."

"Let's walk the rest of the way," Harry suggested. "I can show you some of the shops on Main Street — it's about a mile from here."

They walked along the street leading to the main square of the town. Near the edge of town were several shops that mystified Ron and Ginny, but which Hermione was more familiar with — automobile shops, an oil and lube shop, small convenience stores and a truck stop diner and rest area. She insisted on explaining each one to Ron as they passed, so it was some time before they had made their way to the downtown area.

The Main Street Square was typical for a small town, with diagonal parking along many of the shop fronts. There was a clock tower in the middle of the square at the intersection of Main and Small streets. Hermione and Ginny peered into the various antique shops that dotted Main Street, wondering what they should get their parents for gifts when they returned home. Ron, meanwhile, peered hungrily into Doc's Donut Shop at the confections being served there.

"D'you think we can get something to eat soon?" he asked Harry. "I'm getting hungry."

"I know where we can go," Harry suggested. "There's a place Clark took me, once — it's called the Beanery."

Ron made a face. "I don't want to eat beans, Harry!" Harry laughed.

"They mean coffee beans, Ron," he chuckled. "It's a coffee shop. They'll also serve pastries and other food there."

"Oh," Ron shrugged. "Sounds good to me. Let's get Hermione and Ginny and check it out."

The Beanery was a medium-sized shop on Main Street near the town square. Across the plaza was Smallville Savings and Loan, and nearby was an old movie theatre called the Talon. On the corner opposite the Beanery was a department store called Fordman's, and next to it a flower shop. "Very quaint," Hermione remarked. "It's not that different from Hogsmeade."

"Yeah, but no Quidditch supply store," Ron observed. "No joke shops, no —"

"Ron, it's a _Muggle_ small town," Hermione pointed out. "They wouldn't have those types of things, just like Hogsmeade wouldn't have a theatre or a flower shop."

"Here it is," Harry said, as they approached the shop. The went inside. The interior of the Beanery seemed not to have changed in decades — it appeared very old-fashioned, with old wooden tables and chairs and items of memorabilia on the walls such as an old Sinclair Gas sign, with a large green dinosaur on it; an old milk can, and a 1939 _Wizard of Oz_ poster that made Harry smile. There was an old upright piano near the front of the shop, its keys yellow and chipped in places. Several groups of people, mostly older folks, were scattered around the shop. They gave the foursome curious looks as Harry pointed to an empty table near the window.

The waitress was a middle-aged lady with a pleasant smile. "Hello, dears," she said as she stopped between Harry and Ron. "What'll you have today?"

"Pumpkin juice," Ron replied. Unconsciously, Harry winced.

The waitress gave him a curious look. "Pardon me? _What_ kind of juice?"

"Uh — do you have tea?" Hermione spoke up.

"Sure, hon," the waitress replied. "Iced or hot?"

"Hot, please, with cream and sugar."

"Sugar packets are on the table," the waitress pointed out. "I'll bring you a creamer."

All four of them ordered tea, and Ron asked what type of pastries they had. "Oh, doughnuts, muffins, bagels, long johns, bear claws," the waitress rattled off. "We also have slices of apple, cherry, blueberry and rhubarb pie."

Ron had never heard of most of these items, and seemed a bit lost on which one to choose. "Uh, apple pie, I guess," he finally said, deciding to go with something he knew.

The waitress smiled and nodded, then went to get their drinks. Harry looked around the table at the others. Hermione was beaming and looking around at the items on the wall. Ron looked bored and hungry; he kept turning around to look for the waitress to return with his drink and pie. Ginny was sitting quietly, looking at him, a look that made Harry feel uneasy for some reason. He wished for a moment he could read minds — he'd really like to know what she was thinking right now.

Their teas came, and the waitress set Ron's slice of apple pie in front of him. "Enjoy, hon," she said with a smile, then went to get coffee for other patrons.

"How is it?" Harry asked, a bit drily, as Ron dug into the pie.

Ron took several chews before answering. "Okay," he shrugged. "Mrs. Kent's tasted better, I think."

"You should have tried something new," Ginny said.

Ron shrugged again. Pie was pie. He took the creamer from Hermione and poured a bit into his cup. "It would be better with pumpkin juice."

Harry could have conjured up a pitcher of pumpkin juice, but he hadn't really shared his new magical abilities with the others just yet. The type of magic he was now capable of went against many of the laws of magic that Hogwarts and the Academy taught — he wasn't sure what the others would think of them, much less the fact that he also had super-powers. "I guess you'll just have to wait until you get back to the Burrow," he said.

"Oh, that reminds me," Ginny said suddenly. "We ought to find gifts for Mum and Dad, and Fred and George, for when we go home."

"Yeah, I guess so," Ron agreed, though he didn't seem too keen on the idea.

"We can each buy one of them something," Hermione suggested, fathoming Ron's natural reluctance to spend money.

"Okay — who gets who?" Ron asked.

"Well, you get your father's," Hermione suggested. "Ginny can get your mum's. Harry and I can get Fred and George's."

"Sounds like a plan," Ginny said. "We can split up into groups of two — that way we can cover more ground. I'll go with Harry," she added. _Oh great_, Harry thought._ She found a way to be alone with me again_.

"That's a good idea," Hermione beamed, and if Ron thought anything about it, he remained silent. Harry paid for the tea and Ron's pie, left a couple of dollars for the waitress, and they walked outside onto Main Street.

"We'll meet back here in an hour," Hermione said, taking Ron by the arm and pulling him toward Fordman's Department Store. "See you!"

Ginny was looking at Harry with a satisfied half-smile on her lips. "So, whose present should we look for first, Mum's or Fred's?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry said, trying not to sound uncomfortable. "Whichever one you want."

Ginny was silent for several seconds, staring at him. "Maybe you and I should talk first," she said. Harry nearly flinched at the idea. _Why doesn't she _get_ it_? He wondered to himself. He wasn't interested in her — he was dating Kara.

"I know what you're thinking," Ginny told him. "You're still seeing that bi— that blonde girl, Linda Lee, aren't you?"

"Y-yes," Harry said, slowly.

"That's why you wanted to come here, isn't it?" Ginny looked around. "She's here somewhere, isn't she?" Harry nodded.

"Funny how we haven't seen her around, though," Ginny pointed out. Silently, Harry had to agree. He'd expected to find her at the Kent farm, and that there'd be some animosity between her and Ginny. But if she'd been there, she had disappeared, along with Clark, for reasons unknown, though Harry suspected they were in training.

"She's been busy," Harry rationalized, knowing he couldn't say just _how_ she'd been busy.

"I think she's dumped you," Ginny said flatly.

Annoyed, Harry snapped, "She would have told me if she didn't want to see me anymore. But you've got it all wrong anyway, Ginny."

"Maybe," Ginny agreed, a note of doubt in her voice. "But if she was really interested in you, she'd let you know what she was doing."

Harry had no response to that. He'd been thinking the same thing, but had been excusing Kara as being too busy to get in touch with him. It would have been easy for her, though, to whisper something only he could hear and let him know what was going on.

As he was about to respond, however, another sound came to his ears, one too soft for Ginny to hear: voices across the square, shouting at people to get down and not make trouble. It was coming from Smallville Savings and Loan. Glancing across the square, Harry saw a car double-parked in front of the Savings and Loan building. The man at the wheel was looking around fitfully. Focusing his vision inside the bank, Harry saw three other men, wearing masks and waving pistols and a shotgun at the terrified tellers and few customers in the lobby. There was a robbery going on! And here he was, stuck in the middle of a heart-to-heart talk with Ginny!

Harry was sure he could stop the robbery without being seen — if he had to, he could cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and disarm the robbers at super-speed. But _first_ he had to get Ginny out of the way, without giving her any indication of his enhanced abilities. He put his hand on his stomach.

"Um," he said, trying to sound anxious (which wasn't hard, as he was anxious to get away), "I — uh — gotta go to the restroom."  
Ginny gave him a skeptical look. "Oh, that's convenient," she said. "Just when we have a chance to talk about us, you need to go _pee_?"

"Sorry," Harry said, moving toward the back of the Beanery. "I'll be right back." He stepped into the hallway, moving toward the door marked "Men," but as he stepped inside he super-sped out the back door and toward the savings and loan building just as the sound of gunfire reached his ears. _That can't be good_, he thought, moving at invisibly fast speed toward the entrance of the savings and loan.

Inside the entrance Harry stopped, surprised by the sight that greeted him. Two of the robbers were on the floor, unconscious. A pistol and a shotgun were on the floor nearby, their barrels twisted to make them useless. The third held a young woman hostage, his pistol pointed at her head. Facing him was Kara, dressed in a blue blouse that exposed her midriff and a disturbingly (to Harry) large amount of her cleavage, and a red skirt that barely reached her knees. There was a small Superman insignia on her left bosom. The robber was babbling something about killing the hostage if she approached him. Kara hesitated only a second, then concentrated on the man's pistol, which suddenly became too hot for him to hold. He yelped, dropping the pistol, and a moment later Kara had snatched the hostage away from him and tapped him on the chin, knocking him out.

There was a screech of rubber as the man in getaway car, sensing something had gone wrong, began to accelerate away. Supergirl sped past Harry and grabbed the rear bumper of the car, bringing it to a sudden halt and killing the engine. She sped around to the driver's side of the vehicle, tearing off the car's door with one hand and pulled the driver out. She ran back into bank with the driver in tow, dropping him next to his accomplices. Harry saw that she'd knocked him out as well. Perhaps ten seconds had elapsed since Harry arrived at the bank's entrance.

She turned, smiling at Harry. "Hi there. What do you think?" she asked, indicating her new costume in a voice only he could hear.

Harry smiled back. "I was going to stop the robbery, but you beat me to it," he said, in an equally soft voice.

"Better not be seen talking to me," Kara said. "We might have a hard time explaining how you know me, since this is my first public appearance."

Harry nodded and vanished, just as police cars rolled up outside. He sped around to the back of the Beanery and walked out. Ginny grabbed him and pointed across the street.

"Guess what happened?" she said, excitedly. "Someone just tried to rob the bank over there, and one of those superheroes showed up to stop them!"

"Really?" Harry said, looking across the street. "Which one?"

"I don't know," Ginny answered. "It was a blonde girl, with a blue and red uniform on, and a shield on her chest that looked like an 'S.' I thought that was Superman's symbol." Ginny pointed into the air. "She came out and said something to the police, then flew away."

"Wow, and I missed it," Harry said, sounding chagrinned. He managed to hide his smile from Ginny. It looked like Kara had gotten her wish — she was a real superhero now.

**Author's Note: Again, reviews are accepted and very much appreciated!**


	22. Christmas with the Kents

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
****Christmas With the Kents**

_Updated July 8, 2011_

Within minutes the Smallville town square had filled with people, all of them wanting to know what had gone on inside the savings and loan. The getaway car had been stopped only twenty or so feet from the tire lines left on the road when it peeled out. Inside the savings and loan, four men lay unconscious on the floor. Employees of the saving and loan were gibbering about a woman or girl, dressed in a blue and red blouse and skirt, and sporting a Superman symbol on her chest, stopping the men cold, even though they had shot at her with pistols and a shotgun.

In front of the Beanery, Hermione and Ron had rejoined Harry and Ginny. "Can you _believe_ something like that happened while we were here?" Hermione asked breathlessly. "And who's that girl they're talking about?"

"She was wearing a Superman symbol," Ginny said, sounding equally excited. "And she must've been as strong as he's supposed to be, to stop that car like she did!"

"I wish I'd seen that!" Ron added.

"So do I!" Hermione chimed in.

"Harry missed it, too," Ginny gave Harry a smug look, as if she was now the person who they had to ask if they wanted to hear what had happened. "He was inside the coffee shot having a pee."

"Too bad, mate," Ron said, his tone one of commiseration, as he clapped Harry on the shoulder, then shook his hand painfully. "Ouch!" he said. Harry had been so distracted he'd forgotten to "give" when Ron hit him. It was as if Ron had slapped solid steel.

"Yeah," Harry said to Ron's first comment, so distracted that Ron's cry of pain didn't register with him. He'd been thinking of Kara — evidently she'd decided it was time to go public as Supergirl. What galled him a bit was that he'd wanted to help with her training, but both she and Clark were nowhere to be found when they'd arrived at the Kent farm the day before. And now she'd flown off before Harry could ask where she'd been!

"I think we'd better get back to the farm," he said.

"What for?" Hermione wanted to know. "This is happening right in front of us!" Ron and Ginny were nodding agreement.

"That's my point," Harry said. "The police will want to interview us if they find us here, to see what we know. I don't want to take a chance that one of us will say something to make them suspicious."

"What could we possibly say that would do that?" Ron wanted to know. "They're just Muggles, anyway."

Hermione made a face. "Ron, I think you just confirmed Harry's point. Most people don't know what 'Muggle' means, and it would be hard to explain it without raising suspicion about us. I'm afraid Harry's right."

Ron looked chagrinned, but Ginny nodded. "He's right, Ron. We don't want to speak to the local authorities if we can avoid it." She turned to Harry. "But how do we get out of here? We can't just teleport out — some people might notice."

"Why would that matter?" Ron shot back. "Nobody'd believe them anyway."

"But it would be better not to take any chances," Harry decided. He looked around for a moment, then pointed to the Beanery. "We can go in here and sneak out the back. From there we can teleport to the Kent farm without being seen."

They walked back into the Beanery. The woman who'd waited on them earlier was at the front window watching the commotion going on in the square. "What happened out there?" she asked as they walked in. "The radio said there was an 'incident' in Smallville Square."

"Someone tried to rob the bank," Hermione spoke up. "But apparently some woman with super-powers stopped them."

"I saw her," Ginny added, sounding proud of the fact. "She stopped a car with _one hand_ as it tried to get away!"

The woman suddenly seemed to register that four potential customers had just walked in. "Can I get any of you something?" she asked, solicitously.

"Er — maybe in a bit," Harry said. "I've gotta — er, go to the loo."

"The loo?" The woman looked puzzled. "What's that?"

"Um, the lavatory."

"You were just in here a couple of minutes ago," the waitress pointed out. "And you went back to the restroom then, too."

"Yeah, well…tea goes right through me," Harry said, thinking he was sounding lame, but having nothing else to offer.

"You know, I guess I have to go as well," Ron said, cottoning onto Harry's idea.

"I do too," Hermione added quickly. She looked at Ginny. "You want to come with me, Gin?"

Ginny rolled her eyes but played along. "I guess. Hope you don't need any help from me, Hermione."

While the waitress watched bemusedly, the four teenagers walked to the hallway where the restrooms were located. Instead of going inside them, however, they continued down the hall to the back exit. A sign marked "Emergency Exit" was posted near the door. Harry lagged behind, making sure no one was following them.

"Let's go," Ron said, pushing on the bar to open the door.

"Wait!" Harry said, but the door opened, and an alarm screeched.

Ron jumped back. "What the hell?" he said, looking at the other three.

"Oh bloody hell," Harry muttered. "You set off the alarm!" He gestured for everyone to hurry. "Come on, let's get outside!"

The four of them scrambled outside and shut the door behind them. "Aim for the inside of the barn!" Harry said hurriedly. "People will be rushing out that door any second!"

A moment later the four of them popped out of nowhere inside the Kent barn. "What was all _that_ about?" Ron wanted to know.

"'Emergency Exit,' Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. Did you read what it said on the bar before you pushed it?"

Ron's expression was blank. "There was something written on the bar?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wearily. "It said 'Alarm will sound.'"

"How would I know to read that?" Ron said defensively. "Who writes stuff like that on doors anyway?"

"Apparently Muggles do," Ginny said derisively. "Shows how much you _don't_ know about them!"

"Never mind," Harry said. It was bad enough when Ron and Hermione bickered — he didn't want to hear him and Ginny start in. "We can go in and turn on the TV — maybe there'll be something on the news."

Harry led them to the back and through the kitchen; by now Mrs. Kent was comfortable enough with him that he didn't have to knock before entering. The television was already on — he could hear it in the living room. He walked in, expecting to find Martha Kent watching it, but stopped in shock at the person who looked up from the sofa.

"Hi, Harry," Linda Lee said. "Pretty exciting what's happening downtown, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry said. But what had really shocked him was not that Linda was there, but her appearance. Her hair was now brown, and she wore a pair of thin, square-rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a button-up, long sleeved blouse and an ankle-length skirt, clothing markedly different than the "old" Linda had worn.

Linda seemed to sense Harry's confusion, because she said, "I decided to go back to my original hair color — blonde just wasn't me. And I found out the contacts I'd been wearing were irritating my eyes, so I have to start using my glasses again."

She looked positively mousy, but Harry knew why she was doing it — for the same reason Clark wore glasses and hunched over to disguise his height, speaking and acting timid and meek around other people who didn't know his secret. Linda Lee was Kara's "secret identity," and she had to look and act different than Supergirl if she wanted to have any kind of normal life away from her "super" identity.

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another; clearly they were as surprised as Harry had been to see Linda looking like this. Ginny was smirking — Harry could tell she thought the change in Linda's appearance and demeanor could only help her in her bid to win Harry back.

But Harry didn't care. He knew the truth about "Linda Lee," and she was the same girl he'd spent time with the past two months. "Well, it's good to see you again, Linda," he said, going along with her. "Where were you, earlier? We didn't see you when we first got here."

"I was in Concordia yesterday, with Clark," she said. "Getting my driver's license."

"Huh?" Ron looked surprised. "You aren't old enough to have one of those, are you? I thought you had to be seventeen."

"You can be fourteen in Kansas with your parent's consent," Linda pointed out. "With Clark as my guardian, I was able to get a farm permit, which will let me drive to and from school without an adult in the car. When I turn 16, I'll be able to drive anywhere between 5 a.m. and 5 p.m."

"When do you turn sixteen, Linda?" Hermione asked.

"Pretty soon," Linda replied. "It's on January first."

"So you were born in 1981?" Hermione went on.

"Yes," Linda nodded. Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances. Harry, seeing this, wondered what possible significance being born in 1981 could hold. Other than, it was the same year Ginny was born, he recalled.

"It would be interesting to drive a car," Ron mused. "But it's bloody hard to get a license in Britain, even if you _are_ a wizard."

"Maybe you should move to the United States," Linda said, teasingly. "You'll be driving in no time — and I hear women really go for a guy with a British accent."

"Uh —" Ron looked a bit nonplussed by that comment. He looked at Hermione.

"Don't even think about it, Ron," Hermione told him. "We're going back to Britain when school is over."

A door opened nearby, and everyone turned to see Clark Kent exit his private den. Harry began to smile at him, then stopped. Clark was looking as solemn as he'd ever seen him. "Uh, hi Clark," he said, wondering what had him in such a mood.

"Hi, Harry," Clark said. He nodded toward Harry's friends. "Hello again. Sorry I haven't been able to talk with you until now." He looked toward Linda. "Can I have a word with you in my den, Linda?"

Linda's attitude had gone tense — Harry could tell she did not want to talk to Clark. But she merely stood and said coolly, "Certainly, Mr. Kent."

"Can I come along?" Harry asked. Whatever was going on between Clark and his cousin, Harry wanted to be in on it.

"No," Clark said.

"Yes," Linda said.

Clark was silent for several moments. Then, "If that's what you want, Linda. Come along, the both of you."

Clark held the door to his den for them, then followed them in, shutting the door behind him. Kara was standing, her arms folded in front of her, as he turned to face them. "Kara, I'm _very_ disappointed in you."

Harry looked at Clark, then Kara. "Huh? What for?"

"Because I stopped that bank robbery," Kara said, stonily.

"Well what's wrong with _that_?" Harry wanted to know. "Isn't that would _you_ would have done, Clark?"

"Yes," Clark said. "In fact, I was on my way there to stop it without anyone seeing me, when I saw that Kara was there ahead of me, dressed in her new uniform, stopping the robbers and letting the bank employees and onlookers get a good look at her."

Harry was looking back and forth between the two cousins. "So? I guess I'm confused — why shouldn't she let them see her, if she's going public as Supergirl?"

"It's too soon," Clark said, looking at Kara. "Your Linda Lee identity has hardly had time to let the ink dry on your birth certificate and Social Security card — it's possible that someone could connect Supergirl with how Linda originally looked. They both had blonde hair, arranged the same way. They are both the same size and build. "We got your certificate and the license so you could pose as Linda for a while before venturing out as Supergirl."

"You're being overprotective," Kara argued. "I'm starting school at Smallville High when school commences again. Up until now hardly anyone knew the 'old' Linda — I was hardly ever in town."

"There's also the matter of your training," Clark continued. "You're not ready to go out on your own."

"Oh really?" Kara looked annoyed by this comment. "That's _not_ what you said two days ago!"

"I said you were _about_ ready," Clark corrected her. "There are some finer points to superpowers — and to stopping criminals—that we haven't gone over yet."

"Like what?"

"Like knocking people out," Clark said. "It can damage them. I try to immobilize them so the police can pick them up. It's also dangerous to let anyone fire weapons at you in a closed structure where innocent bystanders are present — they could be harmed by ricochets."

Kara rolled her eyes. "Okay, _fine_ — I messed up there. But they only got off a couple of shots before I stopped them!"

"You can't afford to be that cavalier with people's lives, Kara!" Clark snapped, clearly irked by Kara's retort. "Someone killed by a ricochet off your body can't be brought back!"

"Yes, I understand that," Kara retorted, irked herself as well. "But —"

"'But' nothing," Clark interrupted. "I don't want you going out as Supergirl again until _I_ give you permission."

Kara looked outraged. "I don't see _you_ out there helping people!" she pointed out. "Why haven't you gone back to helping people, as long as you've been back on Earth?"

"I intend to, when _I'm _ready," Clark said. "I've been trying to get my life — my _real_ life — back since I returned from Krypton. And in spite of what you think, I'm trying to protect you — you don't realize how quickly people can turn on you, for the least failure on your part. I don't want that to happen to you."

"I don't get this," Harry finally spoke up. "If Kara is willing to help people, and _you're_ not ready yet, why not let her? She can be more careful, now that you've pointed it out to her —"

"Harry, stay out of this," Clark said, and there was a tone of warning in his voice that Harry had never heard before. "I allowed you to join us because Kara wanted you here, but this has to do with her and me, not with you."

Harry said nothing, clearly stunned by this rebuke. "What are you saying?" Kara nearly shouted. "Of _course_ this has to do with Harry — he has powers just like ours —"

"He has _my_ powers," Clark pointed out. "Or a part of them, just as I have some of his magical ability. I've been looking for a way to reverse the accident that mixed up our powers with each other." Harry and Kara looked at one another, stunned by this remark — Clark was certainly surprising them today!

"I didn't realize you felt that way," Harry said, after a moment of silence. He could barely believe it — Clark wanted his powers back _now_, after all this time? Harry had believed Clark was dealing well with the situation; he'd gone to the Academy to learn magic himself, after all!

Clark's expression softened. "Harry, I think it's for the best," he said. "You're a wizard after all, not a Kryptonian."

"What difference does that make —" Kara began, but Harry made a gesture for her not to say anything.

"When you find a way," Harry told him. "I'll give them back to you, if that's what you want."

Clark appeared mollified by this. "Things will work out, Harry — you'll see."

"Sure," Harry agreed, but on the inside his thoughts were a raging confusion of doubt, betrayal, and anger. "Is there anything else?"

"Well…" Now Clark actually looked a bit sheepish. "I hope you and your friends will be able to stay for Christmas. Mom said that was your plan."

"Yeah," Harry said, in a flat tone. He wanted nothing more than to run from this place, now, but he wasn't going to abandon Kara. And it would be hard to explain to his friends why he wanted to leave. And _where_, exactly, could he go, except back to the Burrow, or Hogwarts? "Yeah, we'll stay." He glanced at Kara, who gave him a look of helplessness. She didn't like this anymore than he did, but she wasn't prepared to defy her older cousin, no matter how unreasonable he was being. Something, Harry felt, wasn't right about how Clark was acting. But he had no idea at the moment how to approach Clark about it. He would have to bide his time, watch Clark, and see what else he did that was outside the norm for him.

=ooo=

Azkaban was not quite like Lex Luthor expected. In some ways it was better than regular prison — the food was better than prison food in the States, if much more British than he preferred. He didn't have to worry about being shanked, either — each prisoner was confined to his own cell. And the guards were human, not the dementors that he'd heard about. From what the guards were sayimg (Luthor caught snatches of conversation as they passed by on routine inspections) when the dementors were here, there were an average of five deaths a month, either self-inflicted from depression and loneliness, or the dementors would weaken a prisoner past the point of return, and they simply stopped functioning. Now, it seemed, the death rate was down to a death every few months, and was usually self-inflicted.

On the other hand… Lex looked around his small cell, measuring perhaps 12 feet by 12 feet. The only contact with the outside world was through a small hole in the door, one that the guards sometimes left open, or sometimes shut, leaving him in darkness. Three times a day a tray of food and drink would appear, and Lex had an hour to eat before the tray disappeared again — he'd learned that the hard way, when he first came here, and had gone hungry until the next mealtime.

The cell was barely livable, at least by Luthor's current standards, which included gourmet meals and a warm, soft bed at night, plus access to the Internet and his own vast library. There was a cot covered with a ragged blanket, and a commode that emptied itself (_magically_, Luthor thought sardonically) once a day. He'd learned to time his bowel movements to just before it emptied, so he didn't have to endure the stench for any length of time.

And — no visitors. At least, none he cared to see. Aurors would enter the cell every so often, rousting him from sleep to supervise his shaving or other hair grooming (not that he had much hair to groom). Luthor got the impression this was a recent change to the routine at the prison — the Aurors usually looked annoyed at having to watch as Luthor shaved, with a "safety razor," for his own and the Auror's protection. He generally took his time, to annoy the Auror even more. His attempts at banter were generally greeted with stony silence, but every so often he'd get a comment such as, "Just shut up and shave, Muggle," or "Hurry up, I don't have all day to babysit you."

But those opportunities came only every other week or so — Luthor had just had his first experience with them, and any chance he thought he had at gaining the guards' confidence was dashed by their oh!-so-professional demeanor and their disdain for him. But there still might be a way out of this mess…

Luthor had heard that some prisoners, especially long time ones, were given "trustee" status. They provided meals for the other prisoners, working in the kitchen, or worked as janitors, sweeping up the corridor floors. They also passed brooms to the prisoners through the hole in the door every other day, so they could sweep up their cells. Luthor had resisted doing this at first, finding it humiliating, but eventually he did it just to have something to do other than sitting on his cot. He also had an idea about how he could get out of here, if he could get one of the trustees to talk to him for a few minutes.

The day before Christmas (Luthor had been keeping track of the days — what else was there to do in here?) he got his opportunity. The peekhole in the door suddenly opened, and the handle of a broom was thrust through it. "Here," a voice on the outside said. "Sweep your cell."

"Thanks," Luthor said, walking over to the door and slowly pulling the broom through. "I didn't catch your name."

"I didna give it," the man replied, with a Scottish accent. "But it's Tarquin, if ye must know." He sounded as eager to give his name as Luthor was to hear it. "An' who might you be, laddie?"

"I'm Lex," Luthor said, in a friendly tone. "How long have you been here, Tarquin?" he asked, still pulling the broom slowly toward him.

"I dinna know, exactly," Tarquin said, after a moment. "A long time, before those bloody spooks came here." _The dementors_, Luthor surmised. "Yeh know, laddie," the Scotsman remarked, diffidently, "we're not 'sposed to talk to the other prisoners."

"What's the harm?" Luthor asked. "There's nothing I can do to get out, and neither can you."

"Aye…" Tarquin did not sound too happy with that fact.

"How long are you in for?" Luthor asked solicitously.

"Fifty years!" Tarquin answered. "Fifty bloody years, just for teaching a stupid Muggle a lesson in proper behavior!"

"What did this Muggle do?" Luthor inquired.

"Oh, he was so high an' mighty, that one was!" Tarquin answered. "Refused me offer of tea, he did — said I was just some ignorant Scotsman! Well I showed him who was ignorant, aye!"

"Fifty years sounds like a pretty harsh sentence for something like that," Luthor noted. "Especially since the Obliviators could have fixed him so he would not remember anything."

"That's what I said, at mah trial!" Tarquin agreed. "But they didna want to hear it. I think the bloody Ministry just wanted me out of the way — I was quite the thorn in their sides back then."

"How so?" Luthor asked solicitously, building rapport between himself and Tarquin.

"I advocated for Muggle rights," Tarquin said. I wanted them to make Muggle-baiting a criminal offense. Dumbledore was on my side, but they only made it an 'actionable offense,' not a criminal one. I'm sure some of purebloods influenced the decision, hang them!"

"What would you do," Luthor asked, "If you could get out of this place?"

Tarquin snorted, not quite a laugh. "I'd find a hole an' hide myself in it, so deep the bloody Aurors would never find me! But that's not gonna happen, laddie — the only people 'oo've escaped Azkaban were Death Eaters, when You-Know-Who came an' busted them out. The rest of us he left here to rot."

"What if I told you," Luthor said, slowly, "that I could make a wand for you, one you'd be able to use to escape?"

"I'd say yeh was daft, laddie," Tarquin said matter-of-factly. "Yer just a Muggle — oh I know about you! Bloody travesty of justice, I say — they don't give a bloody fig for Muggles at the Ministry, no matter what they say about l'avin' them alone! You ain't got the magic to even cast a spell, much less a wandmaker's skill."

"You might be surprised," Luthor said. He had pulled the broom through the hole, and now he put his face close to the opening. If you get me a piece of wood, a bit of magical material, and a thin, sharp piece of metal I can make you a wand."

"Not bloody likely," Tarquin scoffed, but he hadn't walked away yet. "Even _if_ I could get you those items."

"You're a trustee," Luthor pointed out. "You can probably get at least two of those items on your own. And about the magical material — well, I'm sure you could get one of the more 'privileged' inmates here to arrange something." In spite of the breakouts the previous summer, which Luthor had heard about before coming to Azkaban itself, there were still a few purebloods on the inside, and they were able to make arrangements with some of the guards, arrangements for better food, for contraband and other desirable items. Prisons were the same all over, Luthor knew.

"Well…" Tarquin sounded hesitant, but finally nodded. "I'll see whut I kin do, laddie. Now get sweeping, ye've only got that broom fer an hour." The wizard moved away from the door of Luthor's cell.

Luthor began sweeping, whistling a happy tune as he did so. The first part of his objective was accomplished — getting someone in the prison on his side. Now, he just had to hope that Tarquin would be motivated to get him the materials he'd need to make a wand.

=ooo=

Christmas morning found Harry staring silently at the ceiling of his room, listening to Ron snore. So many things were spinning through his mind — Kara, his problem with Ginny, the strange conversation with Clark, and his decision to leave the Academy. Hell, it was easier back when the only thing he had to worry about was Voldemort trying to kill him!

He glanced at the old, windup clock ticking away on a nearby bedside table. It read 2:47 in the morning. It would be at least four more hours before anyone else was up — he knew Mrs. Kent would have breakfast ready at seven a.m. At the rate time was passing for him; well, Harry was not happy at the prospect of waiting for breakfast. He needed to do something _now_.

Getting out of the room was simple — Harry teleported out of the room, reappearing several hundred feet in the air over the Kent farm. There was a light snow coming down, and Harry saw that nearly everything below him was covered in it. He let his flying power take him upward, moving through and above the clouds that were over the area. The tops of the clouds easily visible to Harry even in the pale moonlight, were like a surreal landscape to him.

What was he going to do? He _still_ hadn't told Ron or Hermione about his decision not the return to the Academy. He'd teleported a letter to Professor Potter informing of that fact, and the professor had sent back a very heartfelt letter imploring Harry to reconsider, but his mind was made up. He doubted that the professor would understand, anyway — he had read nearly every book in the Library's vast collection. With the magical power he'd gained in the Dark Dimension, along with Clea's training him with her own repertoire of spells, Harry felt that, even if Clark took back his super-powers, he could be a match for any Kryptonian. Except perhaps Clark himself, who'd managed to beat Clea in her own domain.

Maybe it _would_ be for the best to let Clark have his powers back, Harry mused. He had barely stopped to consider how much power he possessed, but he doubted that any wizard alive could match him now, except for Clark. Did he really need _all_ that power? Harry drifted above the clouds for some time, pondering his choices and their ramifications.

After a while he glanced at his watch. It was several minutes before seven, and Mrs. Kent would have breakfast ready. Time had passed quickly while his mind was occupied. Harry looked down through the clouds and into the kitchen, confirming his thoughts — Mrs. Kent was there, frying up pans of bacon and sausage, and making eggs over easy. Another skillet was filled with hash browns. He shifted his gaze to his room, where Ron lay sleeping. But even as he watched, he saw Ron's nostrils flare as he smelled the aromas coming from the kitchen downstairs. He began to stretch and—

—Harry instantly teleported into his bed, quickly pulling the covers over himself as Ron rolled over in mid-stretch and looked at him. "Happy Christmas, Harry!" he said, grinning.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Harry said, making himself sound as if he'd just awakened.

Ron sat up. "Something sure smells good," he said, inhaling deeply. He looked over at Harry again. "So, how does Christmas work over here?"

Harry knew what he meant. In Britain, their presents were usually piled at the foot of their beds on Christmas morning. But when they'd returned from Smallville after the commotion with Supergirl had calmed down and they'd finished their shopping, Mrs. Kent had insisted they put their presents beneath the Christmas tree that was now set up in the living room. "I guess we'll all go downstairs and open the presents."

"Before or after breakfast?" Ron wanted to know, rubbing his stomach.

Harry shrugged. He had no idea what Mrs. Kent would want them to do. "I guess we'll find out when we go downstairs."

They both got dressed, choosing jeans, pullover shirts and trainers to wear that morning, and padded down the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Kent glanced at them as they entered. "Good morning, boys. Hungry?"

"Yes ma'am!" both Harry and Ron said at the same time, then grinned at one another.

"Well, have a seat," she said, pointing to the kitchen table. "I'll make you both a plate." The plate she presented Ron and Harry with was filled with fried eggs, sausage and bacon strips, and hash browns. A moment later a smaller plate with toast stacked high on it was placed on the table as well, along with a butter tray and glasses of cold milk.

"You know," Ron said, looking at Harry. "Pumpkin juice would go really well with this."

Harry was about to retort but Mrs. Kent just laughed. "I'm afraid pumpkins are out of season right now, Ron. Otherwise I'd have a try at making some for you."

"Oh, it's okay," Ron said, picking up his glass of milk and draining half of it in three gulps. "Milk tastes good, too."

Hermione came into the room, looking a little bleary. Mrs. Kent noticed and asked, "How did you sleep, dear?"

"Okay," Hermione said, sitting down between Ron and Harry. "We were just up late talking."

"I heard," Martha said, with a smile. "I'm in the room just below yours, and I heard you talking for quite some time."

Hermione turned red. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kent! I didn't mean to keep you awake!"

Martha set a plate of food in front of her. "Tush, don't worry about it, dear. It's nice to hear children in the house. Clark was always such a quiet boy — he never had friends over, I'm afraid to say." Harry could surmise the reason for this: with his powers, Clark might have done something to give them, and himself, away. Harry could only guess at the problems Clark had faced at school — keeping himself isolated from the other students, not letting anyone get close to him for fear of revealing his powers. At least Harry had his friends, even if he was the "Boy Who Lived," for a time at Hogwarts. His popularity had risen and fallen over his five years at Hogwarts; he'd been both a hero and an outcast, sometimes both more than once during the year. But he'd muddled through, somehow, until the day he'd returned to Privet Drive after fifth year and saw the meteor that turned out to be Clark's spaceship returning to Earth. He'd barely thought of the Dursleys since then. That was one thing Clark _did_ have — parents who cared for him and loved him, even if he wasn't their biological child.

Ginny appeared and took a seat between Hermione and Harry. She appeared in good spirits this morning, tucking into her breakfast plate with a gusto that approached Ron's. Harry caught her shooting glances at him, and she smiled at him. Harry smiled back automatically, wondering once again what she was thinking.

A few minutes later Linda appeared. "Good morning, dear," Mrs. Kent greeted her. "I was beginning to worry about you."

"Sorry, I was taking a shower," Linda said. She looked at the table; the only chair left was between Ron and Hermione. She sat down, then looked at Ron and said, "Merry Christmas, Ron."

"Merry Christmas," Ron replied automatically. His ears turned a bit red. "Uh, I got you a present," he added, taking a quick glance at Hermione to see her reaction.

Hermione stared evenly at him as Linda smiled. "Why thank you, Ron! That was very sweet of you." Harry had his hand over his mouth, hiding his grin. Ron was his usual befuddled self when a girl talked to him. At the Academy, he'd begun to notice girls but always from afar — actually talking to one, up close and personal, made him tongue-tied. When he _did_ manage to say something to a girl, it was almost always lame, and the girl would usually lose whatever interest she'd had in him.

"Uh, yeah," Ron said, then looked back his plate, and held it toward Mrs. Kent. "Uh, could I have some more eggs, please?"

"Of course, dear," Martha took the plate and began cooking a couple more eggs.

"So," Hermione said, looking at Harry and ignoring Ron. "When do we open our presents?"

Harry spread his hands. "Beats me," he said. "I've never had Christmas over here, either."

Martha turned from the cooking eggs. "We can do it as soon as everyone finishes breakfast," she said.

"Are we waiting for Clark?" Harry wanted to know. He hadn't come down to breakfast yet, as far as Harry knew. Harry hoped that he'd be in a better mood than during the confrontation between him and Kara.

"He's out doing a few chores around the farm for me," Martha replied. "But he said he'd be back before we're done opening presents."

Linda finally pushed her plate away, and the group made their way into the living room, seating themselves in various chairs and the sofa there. Ginny, as the youngest, was elected to hand out the presents from under the tree.

There were quite a few under the tree, Harry saw. This Christmas would be interesting in that, since they had no access to magical stores, all the presents would be Muggle in nature. Over the years he'd gotten some interesting presents for Christmas, both Muggle and magical in nature. His old guardians, the Dursleys, had sent him a 50-pence piece his first year at Hogwarts. Other Christmas presents from them had been equally uncomplimentary, when they bothered to send anything.

But he'd gotten some good presents as well, mostly from his friends. Hermione had given him a luxury quill one year. Hagrid had given him a furry brown wallet, with fangs, that could only be opened if you knew the trick to doing so (which was to stroke the wallet's crease). Ron had given him a big box of Every-Flavor Beans one year, and the book _Flying with the Cannons_ some years before. Harry smiled, remembering that Ron had asked to read the book before Harry even opened it. Fred and George gave him the Marauder's Map one year during a Hogsmeade weekend, telling him it was an "early Christmas present." That, and his father's Invisibility Cloak, which Professor Dumbledore had returned to him his first year at Hogwarts, were his most prized possessions. His godfather, Sirius Black, had given him a pocketknife that could open any lock and undo any knot (except the locks in the Ministry, which Harry found out when one door destroyed the knife).

Harry was brought out of his reverie when Ginny thrust a present into his hand. "This is from me to you," she said, smiling.

"Uh, thanks," Harry said, looking at the present uncertainly. Other people were opening their presents as well. Linda was looking at the present Ron had given her: a pen and stationery set. She smiled at him, and Ron beamed happily.

Hermione was opening the preset Harry had gotten for her, a copy of the book _To Kill a Mockingbird_. "Oh, thank you, Harry!" she said to him. "I've been meaning to read this book — I've just never had time to get to it!" She looked at him a bit suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"Magic," Harry said, with a grin. Saying that had become a joke with them.

Ron opened Harry's present to him: a Swiss Army knife with several attachments, including a corkscrew, a bottle opener, a can opener, and two blades, large and small. His eyes lit up as he opened the box containing the knife. "Whoa!" Ron said. "This is brilliant! Thanks, Harry!"

Harry nodded, smiling, then glanced toward Linda as she opened his present to her. It was a gold necklace with a large crystal pendant hanging from it. "Wow," she said, looking at him with affection. "Very nice, Harry, thank you!" Harry would tell her later that he had created it magically: the chain was 24-karat gold, magically hardened so it was unbreakable; the "crystal" pendant was actually diamond, which Harry had formed from a lump of coal with his super-strength.

Harry was still holding Ginny's present. "Aren't you going to open it?" Ginny asked him.

"Oh. Yeah," Harry said, pulling the wrapping off. There was a small box inside; opening it, Harry found a pair of sunglasses, similar to the kind Aurors used when interacting with Muggles. "Thanks, Ginny."

"You're very welcome," Ginny said, smiling at him. She looked at Linda. "What _did_ you get Harry for Christmas, Linda?" Harry noted the cattiness in her voice. There were no more presents under the tree, and none of the ones in front of Harry had Linda's name on them on the "From" tag.

"Well," Linda said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "I do have something for Harry — I just forgot to put it under the tree. Here, Harry." Linda handed him a small, wrapped package. Smiling, Harry tore open the wrapping and opened the box.

Inside was a bracelet with a nameplate. On the nameplate was Harry's full name, Harry James Potter, written in cursive script. "Oooo," Hermione breathed, taking the bracelet from Harry's hand to admire it. "This is a nice present, Linda!"

"I hope you like it, Harry," Linda said, smiling at him affectionately.

Hermione looked at the back of the bracelet. "Huh," she said, frowning. "The back has some kind of weird markings on it." She turned it around to show Harry.

Harry looked at the markings. He knew what they were, though he said nothing. The "markings" was the name "Kara Zor-El" written in Kryptonian, which Harry had learned from Linda during her visits with him at the Academy.

"That _is_ weird," Harry agreed, taking the bracelet back from Hermione. "But it's still a very nice present. Thank you, Linda." Linda smiled at him. Harry could almost feel the heat of Ginny's anger radiating from her — she was not happy that Linda's gift had gotten more praise than hers.

After all the presents had been opened came the task of cleaning up the piles of wrapping paper and ribbons. Mrs. Kent started to pick up piles of paper, but Hermione stopped her, saying, "Don't worry, Mrs. Kent — we'll take care of it."

"Thank you, dear," Martha said, gratefully. "I'll go check on our dinner." She left the room.

"All right," Hermione said, rubbing her hands together. "Let's see what we can do about this mess." She gestured toward the room in general. The piles of wrapping paper and ribbons began to move, swirling around and sparkling as they began to reform into rolls. The ribbons wound themselves onto ribbon dispensers. Adhesive tape used to wrap the presents vanished, leaving the rolls of wrapping paper and ribbons pristine and looking unused.

"There!" Hermione said. "Now Mrs. Kent will have enough wrapping paper for a long time."

Harry nodded, impressed with the magic displayed by his friend. It was done wandlessly, and though _Reparo_ was normally used to fix broken objects, it would not have been able to restore the volume of used paper to its original condition. "Nice work, Hermione," he said, complimenting her.

"That was brilliant!" Ron added. "Can you show me that spell?"

Hermione, always eager to show off her spell knowledge, began instructing Ron in the use of the spell. Ginny, interested as well, listened as Hermione described the verbal and somatic components.

At that moment Harry's super-hearing picked up a tiny click, like the sound of a bolt locking into place. He glanced at the door to Clark's room; he'd gotten the impression that the sound had come from that door. The others were still talking, so Harry wandered over to the door. It was still impervious to his super-vision. Harry knocked, very softly, on the door.

"Come in," Clark's voice said, and Harry stepped into the room at super-speed, moving so quickly that only Kara might have noticed him entering.

Clark's study was impressive. It was much bigger than the structure of the house allowed for — Clark must have used Extension Charms to make it bigger. It had to be big, to make room for the shelves and shelves of books. They lined the walls of the room, thousands of books. Harry glanced at some of the titles on the spines; there were books on every facet of science as well as books on magic, some of which Harry didn't remember from the Academy Library.

Clark was sitting at a large magnificently polished wooden desk, situated opposite the door. There was a computer monitor on one side of the desk, along with a keyboard and mouse. Also on the desk, Harry saw, was the Eye of Agamotto and the Orb of Agamotto, both sealed in some kind of crystalline bubbles and resting in holders. In front of the desk were two comfortable-looking chairs, both facing the desk. Kara and Harry had used them when Clark went on his rant the other day, but Harry had been too distracted to notice the other details of the room until now.

The Eye and the Orb were still with Clark. Harry digested that. He'd thought that Clark was going to give them back to Dr. Strange, but evidently he had not yet done that. Did Clark want to remain the Sorcerer Supreme of both the Dark Dimension _and_ Earth? It was the only explanation Harry could fathom for Clark continuing to hold onto the powerful artifacts.

Clark was studying the computer monitor in front of him, looking very pensive. Harry stood just inside the door for several seconds before Clark spoke. "Have a seat, Harry." Harry approached, taking one of the chairs (the one he had used before). "What can I do for you?"

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, bluntly.

Clark looked at him, his expression one of mild surprise. "Of course I'm alright. What makes you ask, Harry?"

"Well, er —" Harry wasn't quite sure how to approach this conversation, if Clark didn't recognize that his behavior was strange. "Well, don't you think you treated Kara rather badly after she stopped those bank robbers?"

Clark sighed. "Harry, I think it was great that she wants to get out there and save people. But she has to be aware of how powerful she is, and how much potential danger anyone around her is in if she can't handle her powers effectively. Doesn't that sound reasonable to you?"

"Ye-e-es," Harry said, slowly. "But — she _is_ handling her powers effectively. The robbers inside the bank were unconscious because she tapped a series of nerves that knocked them out. None of them were treated for blows. The robber in the car was handled the same way once she got him out of the car."

"Harry, I don't want to hear any more," Clark said, almost sounding angry with Harry. "This matter is between me and her, you don't need to interfere."

"What about you and me, then?" Harry asked. "Why do you want all of your powers back from me?"

"It's a matter of keeping the Kryptonian blood line pure," Clark replied. "Somehow, our DNA was intermingled by the combination of kryptonite exposure and electrical current from the lightning. I want to restore my Kryptonian bloodline to its original form.

Harry could barely believe what he was hearing. "Blood purity?" he said, incredulously. "Really? Clark, that kind of thinking comes from Death Eaters and pureblood wizards!"

Clark shook his head. "That's entirely different," he said, flatly. "Pureblood wizards seem to want to eradicate half-bloods and Muggle-borns. All I want is what I was born with."

"Fine," Harry said. If truth be told, he _liked_ having super-powers, and didn't want to give them up. But Clark had a point — they weren't really _his_ powers; they had been leeched from Clark by the accident that mixed up their abilities. "Let me know when you find a way, and I'll let you have them."

"I appreciate that, Harry," Clark told him. Harry stood; he wanted to get out of this room, to get away from Clark. He didn't know him anymore. The way was treating Harry and the way he'd treated Kara, his own cousin, was _strange_.

But as much as Harry wanted to get away, something compelled him to be polite. "Are you going to join us in opening presents, or for Christmas dinner?"

"I've already opened my presents early this morning," Clark said. "I'll try to be there for dinner, but I have a lot of research to do on the powers problem."

"Okay," Harry said, turning away. "See you." He went to the door and slipped through it, hoping no one had noticed him leaving Clark's den.

Outside the door, Harry stood pondering the Clark he'd seen in the past few days. Something had changed him, of that Harry was sure. But what? He'd spent time with Chloe Sullivan over the past several weeks — and Chloe was also Dr. Fate. Fate's magic could affect Clark, though why she might make him act that way was inexplicable. Maybe there was something — or someone — else. Dr. Strange, who wanted to be Sorcerer Supreme of Earth once again? Or could Clea be trying to control him somehow? Harry could see Clea doing that, if she was capable, but Clark had banished her to some pocket domain of the Dark Dimension, trapping her there until he decided to release her.

Harry shook his head, trying to dismiss the apprehension he now had about Clark. But it wouldn't budge. He would just have to watch and listen, until he had a better idea of what was going on with his mentor. Harry wished he could get Kara out of this environment; she didn't need to be held back by Clark, just as he, Harry, had been held back by Dumbledore.

Harry was going to have to tell Kara that he wasn't going back to the Academy — and Ron and Hermione, too. He didn't know what his friends would do without him there, but he was going back to England — with Kara as well, if he could convince her. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would let them stay at the Burrow, Harry was sure of that. The only downside was that he would have to deal with Ginny as well — and, he suspected, with Hermione surreptitiously playing matchmaker for him and Ginny, even as pleased as she seemed to be that he and Kara were together.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind of all the worries and troubles that he'd had, and prepared to act as if nothing was wrong in front of his friends. Later, after Christmas dinner, he would pull Ron and Hermione aside and tell them of his decision to return to England instead of going back to the Academy. Clark would just have to come to him if he wanted his powers back.

**Author's Note: Please read and review. I am working on the final few chapters of this story, and am interested in hearing what you think of the recent developments. There will be at least four more chapters after this one. Please let me know what loose ends you'd like to see cleared up before the story ends. Should Harry dump Kara and fall in love with Ginny (Just kidding, Cat!)? Does Luthor get his final comeuppance? What the heck is going on with Clark? Where is Voldemort in all this? What about Lois and Lana? Should Casey Anthony make a special guest appearance? (Just kidding, again!)**


	23. Harry Potter Returns

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
****Harry Potter Returns**

_Updated July 15, 2011_

"_What_?" Ron exclaimed. "What d'you mean, you're not coming back?"

"Just what I said," Harry replied calmly, in spite of the emotions roiling inside him from Ron's response. Hermione simply looked perplexed by what he'd just told them.

"Well that's just bloody great!" Ron snapped. "You drag our arses across the pond to some forsaken place in the States, telling us that it's a lot better than Hogwarts, and a couple of months later you want to _leave_?" Ron shook his head. "Harry, I can't believe this!"

"It does seem strange, Harry," Hermione chimed in. "I really do like this school — it's teaching me a lot more than Hogwarts could."

"Me too!" Ron added emphatically. "And you _know_ how much I don't like school! What in bloody hell is going on with you, Harry?"

"I — just — don't nee— er, want to go back," Harry said. It was hard trying to explain this without spilling his guts to them about his powers and the magic he'd learned in the Dark Dimension. "I just spent two years kidnapped in another dimension, and I need to get away from where it happened. Does that make sense?"

"Ye-e-es," Hermione admitted. Ron didn't answer; he just folded his arms and looked obstinate. "But," Hermione continued, "you haven't said anything about leaving until today. You've been back for almost two months; why bring it up now?"

"I've been mulling it over," Harry replied. And truthfully, he had, even if he'd made the decision before they came to the Kent farm.

"You might have at least told us about your misgivings," Hermione reproached him. "We'd have been more prepared for your decision if we'd known you were thinking about it."

Harry looked down; that was true, he should have come clean with them before this. It was evident that super-powers were no guarantee of being reasonable, even with a super-intelligent brain. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry."

Hermione smiled, appearing satisfied with this remark, but Ron still looked upset. "I don't know if 'sorry' is going to cut it, Harry. I mean, what am I going to tell Mum and Dad? 'Oh, Harry decided to drop out of the Academy and go back to England, but we're going back?' Mum never wanted us to go in the first place!"

Harry was still for several moments, contemplating what he should do next. Well, it was a time to reveal secrets — why not go all in? "I have something to show you," he said, standing. He held out his hands toward them. "Take my hands."

Hermione reached out and took Harry's hand. Ron looked at Harry's hand for a moment before asking, "What are you going to do? D'you think a game of 'Ring Around the Rosey' is going to make everything better?" he added, snarkily.

"I'm going to show you why I'm not going back," Harry said. Ron shrugged disinterestedly, but dropped his hand into Harry's. There was a flash of light — a moment later they were standing on the peak of a mountain.

"What —?" Ron looked around in confusion. "Where are we?"

"We're in Tibet," Harry said. "On Mount Kailash, in the western part of the country."

"Harry, you can't be serious!" Hermione blurted our. "Even with teleportation techniques we learned at Academy, we couldn't _possibly_ travel that far in one teleport!"

"Merlin's pants, it's bloody cold!" Ron gasped, wrapping himself in his arms.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said. A moment later the icy winds blowing across the mountain top changed to a warm breeze. "Is that better?"

"How did you do that?" Hermione asked. "Changing the weather like that is even harder than teleporting us 12,000 miles!"

"I learned a few things in the Dark Dimension," Harry told her. "I also learned that I didn't know as much as I thought, so when I got back I spent time reading all the books in the Academy's library."

Hermione looked skeptical. "Harry, that's not possible. Do you _know_ how many books there are in the Academy's library?"

"65,432," Harry replied. "I kept count."

Hermione and Ron looked at one another. It was obvious that they considered what Harry was saying to them was bollocks. On the other hand, there was no denying that they were standing on a mountain top halfway around the world from Kansas.

"How could you possibly read that many books in the few months we were there?" Hermione asked. "I read fast, but it takes me a day or two to go through the average book."

"I read fast, too," Harry said. "And — well, I have a slight advantage: I can read at super-speed."

"Speed reading," Ron said. Both Harry and Hermione looked at him. "What?" he said. "You think I never heard of speed-reading? But even that wouldn't be fast enough to go through all those books, would it?"

"It's more than just reading fast," Harry said. "I can read the average book in about 10 seconds. And I can remember everything I read. You could open a book to any page and I would be able to quote what's on that page word-for-word."

"How is that even possible?" Ron asked. "Did Clea put some kind of spell on you?"

"No," Harry said. He steeled himself to continue and said, "The day I got back from Hogwarts this summer, I saw a big meteor heading straight toward number four Privet Drive. At the last second it pulled up, missing the house but crashing several miles away in the countryside. I flew out there on my Firebolt and found that it was a spaceship, and Superman, that superhero bloke from America, had returned to Earth."

"I remember him," Hermione said, looking excited. "Did that super-powered girl come with him?"

"No," Harry said. "She came later, I think. But let me get back to the story. When I found him, he was weak; there was something called kryptonite embedded in the side of his ship over the hatch, and it was sapping his strength. I was trying to pull him away when a lightning bolt hit his ship and knocked us both out. When I woke up, I found out that combination of the lightning and the kryptonite had transferred some of his powers to me."

"Get out!" Ron said loudly. "That's unbelievable! _You_ have super-powers? Why didn't you ever tell us?"

"I told you a little about them," Harry said, "but I didn't tell you just how powerful I'd really become."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"I wasn't sure if I'd have them for long," Harry answered. "As it turned out, Superman also got some of my magical ability. I thought he considered that a fair trade, and we were going to leave things as they were, but just yesterday he told me that he wants his powers back, and he's trying to figure out how to do it."

"Well, that's…amazing, Harry," Hermione said. Harry heard the conflict in her voice. She was amazed at the idea that he had super-powers, even more than he'd let on before, but was upset that he hadn't told her or Ron the whole truth. "So…what are you doing with these super-powers?"

"At first, I thought I would go back after graduation and take the Auror qualification tests, keeping my powers a secret and using them without letting anyone know about them," Harry explained. "But now, I'm not so sure that's a good idea. My level of magic is much, much higher than anyone graduating from Hogwarts could ever compete against. I might still do it, but I'll have to work out exactly what my goals are."

"Do something super," Ron challenged him. "I want to see."

Harry sighed, then turned and walked several yards to where a large boulder was resting on the ground. It was about the size of one of the Ministry's automobiles. Harry reached down, getting one hand under it and lifting it into the air. The boulder felt very light in his grasp — it was nowhere near his weight limit. He turned back to Ron and Hermione. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Holy shite!" Ron said. Both he and Hermione were open-mouthed with amazement. "That thing must weight tons!"

Harry set the boulder back in the depression it had been resting in. Instead of walking back to them, he rose into the air and floated over to where they stood. "I decided to stop keeping my secret from you, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Hermione looked like she was thinking furiously. "So… is this how you know Clark Kent?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, suddenly on alert. It was supposed to be impossible for anyone to know Clark Kent was Superman, because of the Fidelius Charm Professor Dumbledore had cast over Clark. The only people who knew were those who had already known of Clark's dual identity, or had magic more powerful than Dumbledore's. And the Fidelius Curse kept anyone who already knew from telling anyone else. Only the Secret Keeper, Clark himself, could tell anyone his secret identity.

"Well," Hermione went on, "Clark Kent knows Superman — that's how he got all those exclusives about him in the _Daily Planet_, along with Lois Lane." Harry relaxed a bit; Clark's secret was still safe, apparently.

"How'd you find all that out?" Ron asked her.

"I popped over to the library in Kansas City to read back issues of the _Planet_," Hermione answered. She turned back to Harry. "But — now what, Harry? If you're not going back to the Academy, I don't know if I want to, either."

"Me either," Ron agreed.

That wasn't what Harry wanted. "You still have a lot you can learn there," he pointed out.

Hermione looked conflicted at that. "I know," she agreed, reluctantly. "But that's not the point."

"Oh?" Harry was surprised at this — Hermione normally took her education _very_ seriously. "What is the point, then?"

Hermione and Ron looked at one another. Was some silent communication passing between them, Harry wondered. Ron turned to Harry. "Well — it's — you know…it's complicated."

"In what way?" Harry asked, now interested to hear.

"Well, you're our _friend_, Harry," he finally blurted out. "We want to stick by you, no matter what. In case You-Know-Who tries to find you again."

"We'll always help you, Harry," Hermione added. "No matter what happens."

Harry's heart was touched, even if he knew both Ron and Hermione were completely out of his league, now. He had the power to rule the world, if he wanted to. But, he realized, thinking like that was probably what corrupted Voldemort, who believed himself superior magically to every other wizard except possibly Dumbledore. But Voldemort didn't realize just how small-time he really was, given wizards like Dr. Fate and sorcerers like Dr. Strange, both of whom could easily defeat him. And even they were nowhere near Harry's current level of magic.

"I'm really happy to hear you say that," Harry told them. "I think we should all go the Burrow to see your mum and dad, Ron — from there we can work out what's going to happen next." _And I'll avoid Ginny as much as possible_, Harry added to himself.

Ron smiled, appearing satisfied by this, but Hermione asked, "What about Linda? Does she know about your powers? Are you going to leave her here?"

Harry had a plan for Kara, away from Clark's influence. "I was thinking, actually, of having her come with us to the Burrow, to meet your family, Ron." That would give him some time to convince her not to listen to Clark, to make her own mark in the world.

Hermione looked startled. "But what would Mrs. Kent and Clark say about that? Aren't they her guardians?"

"I'm sure they'll let her go," Harry hedged evasively. He and Kara might tell Mrs. Kent, but Harry didn't want Clark knowing where she was — there was no telling what he might do in his present state. And he was going to have a talk with Dr. Fate — perhaps Chloe could tell him why Clark was acting so erratically now. The only problem was, he hadn't talked to her or Fate since before he left the Academy, with all the time she was spending with Clark. Well, Harry decided, he would have to take a quick flight to the Academy and hope to find her there.

=ooo=

Lex Luthor sat quietly in his cell, planning contingencies in case Tarquin didn't come through for him. He had no intention of coming through for the trustee, however — his plan was to win Tarquin's trust, not to make a wand for the imprisoned wizard. There was no way he could construct a wand — he had no knowledge of how they were made, though he understood that a small amount of magical substance was embedded in the core of a piece of wood. Some type of spellwork _must_ be involved, Luthor speculated. But what they were, he had no clue, nor any way to perform them.

He hoped to coax Tarquin into divulging what other ways a wizard might escape the island (because Azkaban was on an island, he'd overheard guards saying things to that effect) without a wand. If a wizard could do that, he could do it as well.

There was no hope of a "legal technicality" setting him free this time, Lex knew. The judicial system these wizards followed was pretty medieval. From what he'd overheard, Lex was lucky he was even _granted_ a trial — in the not-so-distant past, wizards accused of crimes were sentenced without one. He'd also heard that, before You-Know-Who (the only name the guards used for Lord Voldemort) began breaking his followers out of Azkaban, only one person had been known to escape — one Sirius Black, who was considered one of the most dangerous wizards alive.

Luthor heard footfalls outside his cell; someone was approaching. The footfalls stopped just outside the door. _Was it Tarquin_? Luthor wondered. The small hatch in the door was unlocked, but not opened enough for Luthor to see who was outside. "Is someone there?" he asked. "Tarquin?"

"Mr. McTavish has been unavoidably detained," a voice drawled lazily. "But I was fascinated by your claim to be able to create a wand, Mr. Luthor."

"Who are you?" Lex demanded. Whoever he was dealing with, the man evidently had more pull with the guards than Tarquin did. "Why would you think I made such a claim?"

"Lucius Malfoy, at your service," Malfoy drawled, answering the first question with barely concealed sarcasm in his voice. "_Did_ you make that claim to McTavish, or not?"

"I did," Luthor answered. There was no use denying it. But he could probably still maintain the illusion that he really could do it. "Are you interested in one as well?"

There was a chuckle from the other side of the door. "I must say, Mr. Luthor, for an ignorant Muggle you seem unusually confident in your abilities. There is no way, however, for a non-magical person to construct a wand."

"Don't be too sure," Luthor cautioned, still unwilling to let his bluff drop. "I may know things you're not aware of."

"I can't imagine what they would be," Malfoy sniffed. "But I would be willing to procure the necessary items for you to construct one, if you're still willing."

_Bluff called_, Luthor thought. But— "I would be more than happy to construct a wand for you, Mr. Malfoy. For the right price, that is."

"Excellent," Malfoy responded. "I will get those items to you in a day or so. But I must warn you," he continued, "if you fail to create a working wand, for any reason, I will make sure that your stay here at Azkaban is very unpleasant indeed. Now, good day." The peephole in the door slammed shut.

Luthor sat back on his cot. _Well, that might have gone better_, he thought. It looked like he'd painted himself into a corner. But a lot could happen while he was "constructing" the wand. He would just have to take steps to make sure it happened in his favor.

=ooo=

Two days after Christmas, Harry and the others made ready to return to Britain and Ron and Ginny's home, the Burrow. He had decided not to let Mrs. Kent know; the chance was too great she would ask Clark about it. Harry wasn't even sure if going to the Burrow would throw Clark off their trail, once he found out — he had magical ability that probably exceeded Harry's, though Harry was not sure how he'd gained that ability. Clark had been able to defeat Clea in her home domain; no small feat, that! Harry himself had trained, unwillingly, for two years in the Dark Dimension, but he'd been unable to free himself from Clea's hold over him.

The trip to the Academy to talk with Chloe had been futile — there was no sign of her there, and Illyana did not know where she was. Harry was left with a vague, unsettled feeling that something was wrong. But, there was nothing to be done about it, so he'd flown back to Kansas feeling ambivalent about the whole thing.

Kara, too, was unsure about going to the Burrow without telling Martha or Clark, but Harry pointed out that Clark was being unreasonable in his objection to Kara's desire to be a public superhero (which Kara agreed with) and that Martha might tell him, sometime after the fact, that Kara had gone to England with Harry, and where (which Kara wasn't so sure about, hence the ambivalence).

"Someone should know where I'm at," Kara argued. "Otherwise both of them are going to worry. Maybe I can tell Martha and ask her not to tell Clark, beyond telling him that I'm okay and not to worry."

"I suppose that's reasonable," Harry agreed, a bit reluctantly.

Hermione and Ron were also a bit upset about running off to England, for different reasons. "It seems wrong to just leave without properly saying goodbye," she told Harry. After Harry explained Linda would tell her they were leaving, Hermione dropped her objection.

Ron's reasons were more straightforward. "Mum's going to have a fit when we show up, especially since we didn't make it home for Christmas."

"Just deal with it," Harry suggested, with a roll of his eyes.

They agreed to meet in the barn just after lunch, around one p.m. With the 6-hour time difference between Kansas and Britain, that meant they would arrive at the burrow around seven p.m.

Harry teleported into the barn a few minutes before one, finding Hermione and Ginny already there, with their trunks and cages for Arnold, Ginny's pygmy puff and Crookshanks, Hermione's cat. "Ready to go?" he asked both of them, but carefully keeping his eyes only on Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione said, smiling. "It will be nice to see England again, even if it's rainy or snowing at the Burrow. I've really missed it."

"So have I," Ginny added, looking directly at Harry. "I wish Ron would hurry up and get here, so we can get going."

Harry blinked. He looked at Hermione, who smiled innocently at him. "Er — didn't anyone mention that Linda is coming along, too?"

"What?" Ginny snapped, looking furious. "You're _joking_! Tell me you are! Besides, she's underage — she can't leave the United States without the Kents' agreeing to let her go."

"She's coming, Ginny," Harry said flatly. "Clark is being unreasonable about letting her…" Harry trailed off; obviously he couldn't say just what Clark was being unreasonable about. "Er, not letting her do things the average 16-year old can do."

"Well, she's not staying at the Burrow!" Ginny told him hotly. "There are a couple of inns in Ottery St. Catchpole — she can go there if she wants to join you in England!"

"That's not your call to make, Ginny," Harry said, as calmly as he could. "It's your mum and dad's decision."

Ginny crossed her arms, giving Harry a _Don't-You-Think-I-Can-Handle-Them?_ look. "We'll just see, then," was all she said.

Ron popped in, dropping his trunk on the barn floor and placing Pigwidgeon's cage on top of it. "Whew," he said, wiping his brow of imaginary sweat. "Just got finished packing! Glad I wasn't late — it's a long teleport to the Burrow…" Ron went silent, seeing the anxious look on Hermione's face as well as Harry's stony expression and Ginny's _don't-mess-with-me_ look. "Everything copasetic here?"

"Everything's just brilliant," Harry said, trying to sound sincere but unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his tone.

The screen door on the house swung closed, and Harry glanced through the barn wall to see Kara making her way toward them, pulling a valise on wheels behind her. She walked into the barn smiling at the four Gryffindors. "I told Martha just before I left," she said to Harry. "She promised not to tell Clark unless there was some type of emergency."

"Good enough," Harry said. It was less than optimal — Clark probably wouldn't have any trouble locating Kara in England, if he really wanted to find her. For once, Harry hoped Clark would concentrate on the problem of transferring the powers Harry got from him back into his Kryptonian body, and not worry about Kara. "Are we ready to go?"

Everyone nodded assent. "Okay." Everyone joined hands, standing around the pile of trunks. "Here we go." There was a flash of light and everyone —

—Suddenly found themselves next to the garden outside the Burrow's back door. In spite of all the problems he'd had in Britain, Harry was happy to see the Burrow again. It was his second-favorite place in the world to be, next to Hogwarts itself.

Ron was smiling happily, too. "Sure is nice to be home again — not that I didn't enjoy being in Kansas," he added quickly, for Harry's benefit.

"No argument here," Harry said softly. "I always enjoy my stays at the Burrow." He looked over at Kara — _Linda_, Harry remembered to call her, when she was using her secret identity. "What do you think, Linda?" he asked her.

Linda was looking at the absurdly tall house, with levels that appeared to have been added at random. "Well, it's…interesting," she finally said. "I don't see what's holding it up, though."

"Well, magic, of course!" Ron said cheerfully. "Dad added the top three stories himself; the house was only three stories tall when Mum and Dad moved in, back in 1970."

Ginny had rolled her eyes at Ron's enthusiasm; she'd levitated her trunk and Arnold's cage and was walking toward the Burrow's back door. "Let's go inside," Harry said, not wanting to give Ginny too much of a lead in arguing why Linda shouldn't stay there. He levitated everyone's trunks, and they followed Ron and Hermione and Harry and Linda up to the back door.

Just inside, Mrs. Weasley was hugging Ginny enthusiastically. Her face lit up even more as Harry stepped into the kitchen. "Ah! You're _all_ back! It's wonderful to see you again, Harry dear! And you and Hermione as well," she added, looking at Ron. Her eyes flickered over Linda questioningly — it was obvious she wanted to know who she was.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Um, Mrs. Weasley —?"

"Yes, dear?" Mrs. Weasley smiled at him.

"If you don't mind, I brought along a friend to spend some time with us…" Harry gestured toward Linda. "This is my friend, Linda Lee. I hope it's no bother."

"Um —" Mrs. Weasley looked surprised and nonplussed by this request.

"I was thinking," Ginny put in. "Linda could stay at the inn over in Ottery St. Catchpole, if we're too crowded here."

Mrs. Weasley's smile was frozen on her face. Harry could see her glancing toward Ginny, as if trying to read what had happened between Harry and her. _How big does this conspiracy go?_ Harry wondered. First Ginny, then Hermione trying to get them hooked up, and now Mrs. Weasley looked to be in on it as well. Finally, Mrs. Weasley said, "Oh tosh, it's no bother at all, dear! Any friend of yours is a friend of ours, too! I'm sure we can make room for one more person."

Ginny looked chagrinned that her mother had caved in so quickly, but the expression disappeared as soon as it was formed; she wasn't giving Harry the satisfaction of getting his way.

Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen. "I thought I heard familiar voices out here! Welcome home!" Ginny ran over to him, giving him a big hug. He clapped Ron on the shoulder, then extended his hand to Harry. Harry and he shook hands; Mr. Weasley then smiled at Hermione. "Wonderful to see you again, Miss Granger!"

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Hermione beamed. "It's wonderful to be here!" she gushed.

Mr. Weasley looked interestedly at Linda. "I don't believe we've met yet, Miss, eh —"

"Linda Lee, sir," Linda offered her hand. "I'm a friend of Harry's, here from the United States."

"Ah! Very nice to meet you!" Arthur seemed excited to meet someone from the States. "Were you attending the Academy with Harry and the others?"

"No," Linda shook her head. "I'm not a witch, though I know about them, and wizards."

"Oh really? Well, I hope we'll have a chance to chat, later." Harry could see the wheels turning in Arthur's head — he loved everything Muggle, and would probably pester Linda with question after question about them, unless Harry kept that to a minimum.

Mr. Weasley turned to his wife. "Molly, dinner certainly smells delicious. I hope we have enough for all our new guests."

"Oh yes," Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I've just gotten it ready. We may have to spread it a bit thin, though."

"Well, we'll make do," Mr. Weasley said. Everyone sat down at the kitchen table as Harry levitated their luggage into the hallway near the staircase. There was something he could do to make sure they didn't run short of food, and no one would be the wiser. As Mrs. Weasley starting filling plates with kidney pies, corn, and thick slices of homemade bread covered in butter, Harry enchanted each of the pots and bowls she was using to keep the food in it filled and hot. As a result, by the time she had made the final plate, for herself, and sat down next to her husband, everyone was enjoying a full plate of food.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said. "That certainly went further than I thought it would."

Arthur had been talking to Ron. "I was surprised to see you and Ginny here — you had written that you wouldn't be coming back home until next summer."

"Well, plans change," Ron said, evasively. "Besides," he added, "We couldn't have brought you your Christmas presents if we didn't come to visit you."

"Presents?" Molly said, looking pleased, but adding, "Oh, you shouldn't have, dear." Ron managed to look both smug and demur.

"Harry and Hermione helped, too," Ginny added. "They got presents for Fred and George as well. Ron and I got your and Mum's presents."

Mr. Weasley looked pleased as well, and had the good grace to be more accepting of his gift. "I'm quite surprised and pleased, thank you! This is a pleasant change from the recent…" His voice trailed off as Molly shot him a warning look.

Harry was on alert. "Recent what?" he asked. Mr. Weasley now looked uncomfortable that he had almost let something slip.

"I think we should tell them," he said to his wife. "They will have to know eventually, anyway." Mrs. Weasley sighed, looking reluctant, but nodded her assent.

Mr. Weasley leaned over the table, speaking very softly. "You-Know-Who has become more active in the last few months. There have been a couple of attempts to kill Professor Dumbledore, even in Hogwarts itself, suggesting that security for the school has been compromised."

"Oh no! What happened?" Hermione asked, concerned.

_Malfoy_, Harry thought. Aloud, he asked, "Is Voldemort showing himself openly now?"

Mr. Weasley winced, as did Molly. "Harry, please don't use his name," he pleaded. "There are rumors that he plans to make his name Taboo."

Harry frowned. "Sorry," he said. "But nothing happened just now, so I assume he has not yet cast the spell."

"Fortunately!" Molly said.

"What's Taboo?" Linda asked.

"It's a very powerful spell," Harry answered. "When a person casts it upon a particular word, anyone saying that word creates a magical disturbance that makes them trackable by the caster or anyone he's empowered to do so. The area of effect is large; it can be several hundred miles from the point of origin, which is usually where the caster resides."

"And where do you think he is?" Linda continued.

"You-Know-Who remains hidden," Mr. Weasley spoke this time. "Though we suspect he is at Malfoy Manor, in Wiltshire. Several searches of the grounds have yielded no evidence of his presence, however. Lucius Malfoy remains in Azkaban, and his wife Narcissa has been cooperative with the Ministry so far, so we are still not sure where You-Know-Who is at."

"But Draco is still at Hogwarts," Harry muttered. He was _sure_ Draco must be up to something; when he'd been in Diagon Alley back before school began, Draco went into Borgin and Burkes, a place known for dealing in rare and powerful Dark magic items. There could be no good reason for Draco to go in there. Unfortunately, he'd been distracted by Ginny, Fred and George before he had a chance to listen to the conversation between Draco and Borgin, and by the time he was able to tune in it was over. "I think he might have something to do with the attacks on Dumbledore."

Mr. Weasley looked skeptical. "It seems unlikely, Harry," he said, frankly. "Draco was not a part of either incident."

"What were the incidents?" Harry asked.

"The first occurred during the Hogsmeade visit in mid-October. Katie Bell was carrying a package back to the school when she accidentally touched what was inside and a powerful curse was unleashed. Fortunately, Hagrid was following her and he got her to the infirmary before the curse proved fatal.

"The second incident occurred over the holiday break, just before Christmas Day. Professor Slughorn, the current Potions teacher, was celebrating Christmas holiday early by opening a bottle of mulled mead to share with Professor Trelawney. However, before they drank it he detected an odor coming from the mead and tested it for poison, finding a very potent one mixed in. The bottle was one Professor Slughorn had said he planned to give to Professor Dumbledore as a Christmas present, but he apparently decided to drink it himself, fortunately."

"Where was Draco during all this?" Harry wanted to know.

"He had gone home on the Hogwarts Express," Mr. Weasley answered.

"And there was _no_ link between Malfoy and either of these incidents?" Harry mused. "I don't buy it — I know he went into Borgin and Burkes the day we were at Diagon Alley."

Mr. Weasley looked confused. "I don't see how you could have, Harry; Borgin and Burkes shop can't be seen from Diagon Alley, even if you're standing at the entrance to Knockturn Alley itself."

Harry could have kicked himself for not thinking of that, but even as he opened his mouth to improvise an excuse, Hermione spoke. "Harry followed Malfoy down Knockturn Alley using his Invisibility Cloak."

"Oh?" Mr. Weasley looked bemused. "How do you know that?"

"We were covering for him while we were at Fred and George's shop," she answered immediately. "He got back just as Mrs. Weasley rounded us all up to leave. He even talked to Fred and George a bit before we left."

Mr. Weasley turned to Harry. "Is that true?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, sounding reluctant. But in fact he was grateful to Hermione for covering for him. She had obviously realized he'd used his powers to watch Malfoy going in to Knockturn Alley and had provided an alternate explanation as to how he knew where Malfoy had gone. It was a good thing he'd decided to tell her and Ron about his powers, Harry realized.

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Harry, you really _must_ be careful when you're out in public like that. I shudder to think what would happen if you came upon a group of Death Eaters."

Harry hung his head, but only to hide the smile that came to his lips as he thought of what would happen if that scenario came to pass. The Death Eaters would find themselves _way_ out of their league if they attempted to curse him, especially now. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Mr. Weasley laid a fatherly hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's alright," he said, gently. "It's just that we don't want anything to happen to you."

After dinner was finished and the dishes cleaned and put away (Kara washed while Harry and Ron dried and put them away), the group retired to the living room to get better acquainted. Mr. Weasley was nearly quivering with excitement to talk to Kara, who was as far as he knew a Muggle with knowledge of magical people. "It's really quite fascinating," he told her, "just how Muggles are able to mimic much of our magical abilities with non-magical items. Take eckeltricity, for example: a marvelous idea, though impractical for wizards, as it functions erratically in the presence of magic."

Linda nodded attentively. "That would be a problem," she agreed.

"Indeed!" Arthur was quite keen to discuss the merits of magic over Muggle technology. "I would like to discuss it with you sometime —"

"Arthur," Molly interjected, speaking softly (for once) but in a commanding tone. "It would be polite to let Linda tell us about herself rather than debating Muggle items versus magic."

"Ah, of course," Arthur agreed, though he was clearly disappointed at being derailed. "So, Linda, what would you like us to know about yourself?"

"Well, there's not much to tell," Linda said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I was an orphan at the Midvale Orphanage, in Midvale, Kansas, until I was adopted by the Lees. I lived with them for fourteen years, until I discovered that I was related to Martha Kent. I went to visit her, to see if she knew what had happened to my birth parents, but she didn't know. Instead of going home I decided to stay with Mrs. Kent, to help her around her house. I met Harry while he was visiting Martha's son, Clark, and well, here I am."

Harry listened silently as Linda described her life story. It was pretty much the story they'd put together to tell people, to cover her sudden appearance in Smallville several months ago.

"And how did you know Clark Kent?" Ginny asked suddenly, turning to Harry. There was a trace of challenge in her expression, as if she were daring him to answer.

"Er — I met him in England right at the beginning of summer holiday," Harry improvised. It was close to what Clark had said about them meeting — leaving out the mention of his parents, of course; everyone here knew James and Lily Potter were dead, murdered by Voldemort.

But Ginny didn't leave it alone. "Where would you have met? Didn't you go right home to Surrey after Hogwarts?"

"Yes, but I didn't _stay_ at home," Harry hedged. "I took the Underground round the city, and happened to meet Clark as he was heading to King's Cross, to go to Heathrow and a flight back to America. He said he'd been traveling for several years and was ready to see his mother and friends once again."

"And now," Mrs. Weasley broke in, "You and Linda are — dating, is that right?" It was clear to Harry that she didn't want the answer to that question to be "yes."

"Kind of," Harry answered, and Molly sat back, digesting that response. Harry could tell by her expression that it was a hard idea to swallow. If he didn't know better, he'd suspect that Mrs. Weasley had been grooming Ginny to become his girlfriend. While he _might_ have considered that at one point, the idea now seemed surreal and a bit absurd. Who wanted a girlfriend who kept track of your every movement and everyone you talked to?

"I'd say Harry did alright," Ron chipped in. "Linda's a real nice girl."

The looks Molly and Ginny gave Ron would have melted him on the spot, had he noticed. As it was, Molly turned to Linda and said, "Well, dear, it's wonderful to have you here with us over the holidays."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Linda smiled. "I'm sure I'll enjoy my time here."

=ooo=

"So," Harry asked, "What do you think?"

Harry had just told Ron and Hermione his plans for post-Christmas activities. They were sitting in Fred and George's old room, where Harry normally stayed these days when visiting the Burrow.

"I don't know," Hermione said, uncertainly. "We made such a fuss about going to the Academy that leaving it and going back to Hogwarts seems like we didn't do well enough to stay there."

"And," Ron reminded him. "We _did_ learn a lot at the Academy — more than we'd ever learned at Hogwarts! In a way it's almost like going backwards."

"I thought you didn't like schoolwork anyway," Harry grinned.

"Well," Ron rolled his eyes. "I never like doing work when there's something better to do, but you have to admit, I was doing good at all my subjects there."

"B's and C's are not really 'good,' Ron," Hermione pointed out.

"Because you wouldn't _help_ me on the tests!" he objected, outraged.

"I wasn't going to help you cheat," Hermione sniffed.

"Okay, okay," Harry tried to cut the bickering short. "Primarily, I think I need to be in England again. Clark is acting weirdly these days and I think he's treating Linda unfairly." _And maybe I can do something about Voldemort_, he thought to himself.

"Why doesn't she just go home to her parents?" Hermione asked, reasonably.

_Because they don't exist_, Harry thought. Aloud, he said, "I think she was having issues with them as well."

"Hmm," Hermione looked pensive. "Sounds like the problem is with Linda, not her parents or with Clark."

Harry was annoyed at that. He couldn't tell Hermione everything, but Clark was acting out of character from the man he'd met back in June. "No, it's Clark," he insisted. "He's making unreasonable demands on both me and Linda."

"Like what?" Ron asked. Hermione cocked her head, listening as well.

_This was getting nightmarish_, Harry thought. He was having to pile lies on top of lies to keep Kara's secret identity safe. At least there was no chance he could give away Clark's secret identity, anyway; the Fidelius Charm would keep anyone except Clark himself from telling them he was Superman.

"He didn't think Linda and I should be going out together, since she's barely 16 and I'm closer to 18 now, subjectively if not chronologically. In fact, I just had my sixteenth birthday last July. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know," she replied. "I'd have to hear Clark's arguments."

"Well, they mostly go along the lines of 'Because I said so,'" Harry snorted.

Ron looked as if he'd been thinking furiously. "So… what happens to Linda when we go back to Hogwarts?" he asked.

That was a good question, Harry knew, one that they were still not sure of the answer to. "She might get a job here," Harry temporized. "Maybe in London — she could work in an office in London, or something like that."

"That's a bloody long way from Hogwarts," Ron remarked.

"And what will _you_ be doing back at Hogwarts?" Hermione wanted to know. "You told us that you read every book in the Academy's library before we left — is that what you plan to do at Hogwarts?"

That was, in fact, Harry's plan. It might not tell him anything he didn't already know, but going through Hogwarts library would let him compare the two systems more thoroughly. Not to mention comparing them both against the magic he'd learned in the Dark Dimension. "I suppose that's a good an idea as any," he shrugged.

"I bet Dumbledore will be happy to see us again," Ron theorized. "He always liked you, Harry."

Harry grunted in a non-committal fashion, but Professor Dumbledore was actually another reason he'd wanted to go back. There'd been two attempts on his life since school started, and he was already suffering from the effects of a curse that would probably kill him before school started in the fall.

Plus, there was always the Voldemort problem. When they'd gone off to Academy, Harry hadn't wanted to deal with it, preferring to wash his hands of the whole thing, reasoning that Voldemort would not cause more problems until after he found Harry. But Voldemort _had_ been causing problems, from what Mr. Weasley had told them, and it was likely he'd continue to do so. The first chance Harry got, he'd find out where Voldemort was holed up and offer him a deal he couldn't refuse.

Hermione and Ron eventually went back to their own rooms, leaving Harry to plan for their transfer from the Academy back to Hogwarts. He smiled, thinking for a moment he'd leave Ginny at the Academy, but decided that would be unfair. Within a few minutes he'd crafted a letter to go to both Professor Potter and Professor Dumbledore, explaining their desire to return to Hogwarts. The _why_ they wanted to return was a bit fuzzy, he admitted to himself, but he hoped the two professors would respect their wishes.

When the letter was finished, Harry created a duplicate and sent each one off, one to Hogwarts and one to the Academy, using teleportation magic neither the Academy nor Hogwarts had taught him. Included in the text of the letter was instructions on how they could contact him directly: by writing their responses on the backs of the letter; when they stamped it with their school's seal, the letter would teleport back to his desk.

Hogwarts was bound to be interesting, Harry thought, even if he couldn't really learn anything from it now. He'd missed a lot of the people there, even some of the teachers. Plus, there was Draco Malfoy — Harry looked forward to seeing him again, especially if Draco had anything to do with the attempts on Dumbledore's life. He didn't know what he'd do about Quidditch — he'd have an unfair advantage if he tried to play now. But, he knew, it was likely that the captain of the Gryffindor team would seek him out to take the Seeker's position. Well, he would deal with things like that as they arose, he decided. Harry laid down on one of the beds and willed himself to sleep.

=ooo=

The morning of January 5th, London King's Cross was bustling with activity: travelers carrying with suitcases and trunks moved through the station; tourists pointed excitedly to points of interest in their travel brochures. Trains were arriving from various locations and departing to York, Doncaster or Cambridge. Conductors and ticket agents were directing people to their departure platform; porters were loading and unloading baggage. In general the station resembled little more than haphazard crowds of people moving in and out of the trains that departed the station or arrived there from other stations.

Platform 9 was as busy and hectic as trains arrived and departed; into this controlled chaos appeared five teenagers, so unobtrusively that no one ever noticed their arrival.

Harry looked around the platform, assessing any potential threats to him or those with him. There were no Death Eaters present (the left arm of everyone on the platform showed no Dark Mark), nor any Aurors (Harry could recognize them by their impeccable Muggle suits and the cheaters Aurors always wore when in public). "It looks clear. Let's find some trolleys for our trunks."

They loaded four trolleys with baggage and cages: Hermione's trunk and cage for Crookshanks; Ron's trunk (but without a cage, as Scabbers had turned out to be a fugitive Animagus, Peter Pettigrew, and the idea of owning a pet now creeped Ron out); Ginny's belongings and tiny cage for Arnold the Pygmy Puff; and finally, Harry's trunk and cage for Hedwig.

"Is this where you board the Hogwarts Express?" Kara, who was dressed up in her Linda Lee wig, glasses and clothing, asked.

Hermione pointed to the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. "No, we have a special platform — Platform 9¾.

"Nine and _three-quarters_?" Linda repeated, dubiously. "I don't see anything there but a wall."

"We'll show you," Hermione smiled, taking her trolley and pointing it toward the barrier. "Watch this." She rolled the trolley toward the barrier, gaining speed until Linda, frowning, called out to her.

"Watch out for —" Hermione's trolley reached the wall and passed through it, and she disappeared right behind it. "Wow," Linda said. "That was cool!"

"I'm next," Ron announced. He grinned at Linda then shouted, "Geronimo!" and dashed toward the barrier, passing through.

Ginny, who'd remained silent after saying goodbye to her parents, looked at Harry, carefully avoiding Kara's gaze. "See you on the other side, Harry." She rolled her trolley through the barrier, leaving Harry and Kara alone.

"Well, she's certainly persistent," Kara said, folding her arms across her chest in an expression of annoyance.

"Right," Harry agreed, softly. "But I'm really not interested in her. She just won't accept that."

Kara looked sidelong at him. "Maybe she'll find a new boy at Hogwarts this year, and give up on you. From what you've said, it's happened before."

"I suppose," Harry said. He didn't really want to discuss it. "Are you ready to see the platform where the Hogwarts Express departs for Hogwarts?"

"Sure." It was Harry and Kara's plan for her to follow the train in her Supergirl costume, to stay in Hogsmeade while she and Harry decided what to do about her future as a superheroine. Up in the secluded area in Scotland, there was very little chance of encountering non-magical people other than the odd tourist. They were normally handled by the anti-Muggle charms on and around the castle — such spells made non-magical folks avoid the area of the castle, seeing it as a broken-down ruin that made them feel uneasy and wish to avoid it.

"Go on through, then, and I'll follow," Harry prompted. "Just walk forward and when you hit the barrier, you'll pass through to the other side, Platform 9¾ ."

Kara nodded, took a slow, deep breath, then walked toward the barrier. But as she touched it, she felt solid resistance. She looked back at Harry. "It's not working!"

"That's strange," Harry frowned. He stepped up beside her, next to the barrier. "Unless — I suppose it's enchanted to allow only magical folks to pass through."

"But, you've told me that some witches and wizards are born to non-magical parents," Kara pointed out. "Wouldn't they be allowed to escort their children to the Hogwarts Express?"

Harry reconsidered. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe there's a spell that allows them to pass through under those circumstances. I think I can fix that for you."

Harry made several gestures over Kara. "I'm putting wards on you that will defeat Anti-Muggle and Muggle Detection Charms. If the barrier tries to sense you are a Muggle, it will think you're a witch and let you pass through."

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry and Kara both turned toward the new voice. A portly conductor was standing there, eyeing them suspiciously. "You're not planning on defacing that wall, are you?"

It must look strange, Harry knew, to see two people standing in front of a wall, regarding it so intently. "Uh — no, sir."

"Well then, move along, move along, get to your train or go back into the station," the conductor suggested, crankily. "You don't need to be loiterin' around out —" The conductor's face suddenly went blank as Harry made a subtle hand gesture. "Uh— " the man blinked a few times, then stared at Harry in confusion. "Sorry, was I saying something?"

"Just that it was about time for your train to leave the station," Harry said innocently, while Kara hid a smile.

"Oh," the man said, still looking confused. "Well, have a good day…" He wandered off, leaving Harry and Kara alone in front of the barrier.

"That was mean," Kara teased him.

"Not really," Harry replied. "It's better than he doesn't start to wonder why we were in front of this barrier." He gestured to the wall. "You're ready to try again."

"Okay," Kara said. "Here goes nothing —" She stepped toward the barrier, this time passing through the wall effortlessly. Harry nodded, satisfied that Kara was now immune to Muggle Repelling Charms and any wards designed to cause Muggles to see illusions placed on certain places like Hogwarts.

Harry pointed his trolley at the barrier and stepped through. On the other side, on Platform 9¾, he heard the familiar hustle and bustle of young witches and wizards greeting each other after the Christmas holidays. It brought back memories he hadn't thought of for a long time. Kara was nearby, and he smiled at her, just he saw a large group of students who had clustered around Ron, Hermione and Ginny, suddenly look his way, pointing and talking excitedly. "Hey! Harry! You're _back_!"

In a moment he was surrounded by Hogwarts students, all wanting to talk to him at once. "Looks like you got taller, Harry," Dean Thomas, who was fairly tall himself, said to Harry. They stood almost eye-to-eye now.

Katie Bell was in the crowd as well. "Harry," she said, sounding business-like. "We can really use you back on the Quidditch team. I'm team captain, but I missed the first couple of games because of — well, an accident…"

Before Harry could reply, however, Michael Corner spoke up. "You know that Snape is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't you? They made Horace Slughorn the Potions teacher."

Harry shrugged. "I'd heard about that," he said, truthfully, but didn't bother to add that he didn't care one way or another about what Snape was doing now.

"So where you been, Harry?" Seamus Finnigan piped up. "We heard the four of you were goin' to a new school."

"Yeah, it was great!" Ron, who'd walked up to the edge of the crowd, along with Hermione, while Ginny hung back watching, replied excitedly. "We really learned a lot there!"

"If it was so good, then why'd you leave?" Zacharias Smith inquired, a bland smirk on his face. Harry ignored him.

"So what are you going do now that you're back?" Ernie Macmillan, another Hufflepuff, asked.

Harry gave a slight shrug. "Dunno," he said, in a casual, noncommittal tone. "I still have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about our studies."

"What about them?" Sally-Ann Perkins asked. "I mean, you're already half a year behind everyone else. It's going to be hard for you to catch up. No offense," she added quickly.

"None taken," Harry said, sharing a look with Hermione, who smiled imperceptibly.

"Hello, Harry. It's nice to see you back in school." Luna Lovegood, who'd been talking to Ginny at the back of the crowd, waved to him. Harry saw that Ginny had already gone into one of the cars.

"Hi, Luna," he greeted her. "How are things going for you?"

"Fine," Luna replied serenely. "I'm writing a paper for Hagrid on Moon Frogs. He says he expects it to be quite an interesting read."

"I'm sure it will be," Harry said, keeping his face straight, though Ron was rolling his eyes along with several others in the crowd. "Well," he continued, speaking to everyone. "I see we only have a few minutes before the train leaves, and I'd like to have a word with my friend Linda before we take off. I'll see you all on the train."

The crowd began dispersing, and Harry drew Kara aside. "Well, here we go," he told her speaking so softly only she could hear him. "Are you okay with staying at Hogsmeade for a while?"

Kara smiled. "Of course I am. I'm sure it'll be fascinating to see how a Wizarding village works."

"Just don't tell anybody there that you're not a witch," Harry warned her once again.

"I know, Harry," she replied, patiently. "I know. Mum's the word on my status as a witch."

"I'm worried that you won't be able to follow the train to Hogwarts," Harry said, almost fretfully. "Ron and I were able to follow the rails when we drove his father's Anglia to Hogwarts, but I don't know if you'll be able to see them."

"Even if I can't," Kara reassured him. "I know enough about the geography of the area surrounding Hogwarts that I'll be able to find Hogsmeade."

Harry was about to agree when someone behind them spoke. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Harry Potter, the prodigal son, returning with his tail between his legs. Couldn't handle it at that new school, Potter?"

"Malfoy," Harry said, tonelessly, turning around to face him. He noticed that Malfoy was flanked by his perennial "friends," Crabbe and Goyle, who functioned as his bodyguards and gophers. They were both leering at Kara, who regarded the three of them impassively. "I didn't know you were missing me," he added, sarcastically.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter," Malfoy replied. "So, who's your new girlfriend?" he sneered, noticing Kara staring at him.

"This is Linda Lee," Harry said.

"I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Linda," Draco grinned, as did Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Obviously, his intentions were not benign.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy," Kara replied. "But I won't be attending Hogwarts. I'll be near Harry while he's at Hogwarts, though."

Harry winced inwardly. He wouldn't have volunteered that much information to Malfoy about her plans.

"Oh, _that's_ interesting," Malfoy drawled. He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle with an expression of malicious glee. "The Chosen One has a follower to his holy cause."

"You're wrong about that," Kara calmly replied. "But what do you think his 'holy cause' is, Malfoy?"

One of Malfoy's eyebrows went up. "Hasn't he told you? He's supposed to be the one to kill the Dark Lord. A delusional goal at best, to be sure."

Kara shook her head slowly. "I don't know who this 'Dark Lord' is."

"He hasn't told you yet?" Malfoy appeared amused. "Well, you'll find out soon enough. Potter thinks he's the one and only person who can destroy him."

"Do you mean Voldemort?" Kara said, deadpan. All three of the Slytherins flinched.

"Don't say his name!" Malfoy snapped. "You're not worthy to speak it — I'll bet you're nothing but a filthy Mudblood yourself!"

Harry took a step forward. "Shut your mouth, Malfoy."

"Or what?" Malfoy grinned, thinking he had the upper hand now — Potter had betrayed a weak point. His hand already had his wand in it — he had been holding it behind his back. "What are you going to do about it?"

Harry put on an expression of amused disinterest. "I'll make sure you're exposed as a Death Eater," he grinned. He'd already looked through Malfoy's robes, seeing the Dark Mark on his left arm.

"Oh, in your dreams, Potter," Malfoy argued. "Even if I were one, only my parents can give permission to do a body search on me, and my father is in Azkaban — thanks to _you_, by the way — my mother will refuse to allow it."

"How's that special assignment from Voldemort going?" Harry asked in a penetrating tone. "Not having much luck killing Dumbledore, are you?"

Both Crabbe and Goyle looked surprised at this comment, and turned to Malfoy, who said, "Nice try, Potter, but I haven't had anything to do with the attacks on that old man."

"Sure you haven't." The sarcasm in Harry's tone was unmistakable.

"Believe what you want," Malfoy said, his voice now laced with anger. "You can't prove anything!"

Harry smiled viciously at him. "You don't know what I know, Malfoy."

"I know you don't know anything," Malfoy responded. "Otherwise you'd have gone to Dumbledore or the Ministry already." The hand holding his wand was trembling, as if he was bursting to point it at Harry and curse him. Not that he could do anything to either him or Kara; Kara could easily dodge any spell Malfoy might cast, and Harry knew enough powerful magic to negate any spell and to make Malfoy's wand an inert stick before the Slytherin could utter more than a single syllable of a curse.

"You'd better get on the train," Harry told them. "It'll be taking off in another few minutes."

Malfoy snorted, then made a show of putting away his wand. He gestured to Crabbe and Goyle, then walked away with them in tow.

"_He's_ an interesting person," Kara observed softly.

"Oh, yeah," Harry agreed. "He's really something." He shook his head. "But don't worry about Malfoy — he's mostly all talk." Except, Harry reminded himself, he _was_ probably the one behind the attempts on Dumbledore's life — Harry was virtually certain of it. He was even tempted to enter Malfoy's mind and extract the truth from him. But, that type of information wouldn't hold with in the Wizengamot (unless _they_ were the ones to extract it, with Veritaserum and they couldn't use it against Malfoy without parental consent); Harry wanted to make sure Malfoy's guilt would be public record, just as his father's was.

Kara glanced at the clock that hung nearby. "It's nearly eleven o'clock, Harry," she pointed out. "You'd better take your own advice and get on the train before it leaves without you."

Harry smiled. "A few years ago that would have been a problem, but today I can easily teleport onto the Hogwarts Express."

Kara glanced around. The platform was now clear except for her and Harry. She spun around, revealing her Supergirl costume. "I'll see you there, Harry," she said to him, gently, stepping closer to him.

Harry caught his breath. Kara mouth was as close to his as it had ever been. Was she giving him a signal to kiss her? With Clea, it had been obvious what she wanted from him; with Kara, however, he wasn't sure if she was inviting him or not. "Okay…" he said, slowly, moving his lips closer to hers.

But at the last moment, he pulled back. "I'll — I'll see you there," he echoed, then nodded to her and turned away, hating his lack of resolve. Harry stepped onto the train, then looked back at Kara, who looked at him bemusedly for a moment before waving and shooting upward into the sky.

Harry's gaze followed her flight for a few moments, then he stepped into the hallway between compartments, finding the one where Ron and Hermione were sitting. Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom were also in the compartment with them.

"Hi, Neville," Harry said as he sat down opposite him. "How're things going for you?"

"Fine, Harry, thanks," Neville replied, and they shook hands. "It's good to see you back at Hogwarts!"

"Did you make sure Linda made it back home?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"She's a strange one, isn't she?" Ron spoke up. "I mean, she's about as weird as —" he stopped, his eyes glancing over Luna Lovegood, who was listening to him with polite interest, and finished, "— as some people I know."

"Do you mean like me, Ronald?" Luna asked, her penchant for speaking uncomfortable truths asserting itself once again.

"Er —" Ron looked embarrassed and sheepish.

"Oh, it's perfectly fine," Luna went on, serenely. "I know I'm a bit strange."

Ron caught Harry's eye, giving him a look that said, _A _bit_ strange_? Harry barely shrugged; he didn't agree with Ron about Kara, but he had to admit that Luna was a bit — well, unique, in her outlook.

"What classes are you taking when you get back to school?" Neville suddenly asked. "I've got Herbology, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions."

"This is my year for O.W.L.'s," Luna said, in a dreamlike voice. "I hope I do well. I'm thinking about becoming a Healer. I've been mending some fingers and toes after Quidditch matches — they're quite interesting to do."

Harry didn't know what to say first. "I'm sure you'll do fine as a Healer, Luna," he told her. To Neville he said, "I still have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about my classes."

"What about you, Hermione?" Neville asked her. "Do you know what you're taking?"

"I'm sure I'll be taking pretty much the classes you are, Neville, plus a few others like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," Hermione replied.

"Me, too," Ron added. "Well, except for those last two classes."

The train was beginning to pull away from the station. Whatever was going to happen at Hogwarts, Harry knew he was committed to going through with it, as far as he could take it. He just hoped Malfoy would follow through with the knowledge he now had, that Harry Potter was returning to Hogwarts.

=ooo=

Lex Luthor was smiling. It was uncommon to see _anyone_ in Azkaban prison smile, but Lex was quite pleased with himself. He had been challenged, and he had _done_ it, in spite of the impossibility of the task.

A small workbench had been added to the meager furnishings of his room. It had various items scattered across it — a straight razor, a roll of Spellotape, a few pieces of white, slender hair, almost so fine as to be invisible to the naked eye. And in the middle of the table rested — his masterpiece.

It had been nearly two weeks since Mr. Bad Hair Day — Lucius Malfoy, a fellow inmate with considerable influence among the guards— had given him the raw materials to create a wand. It had been Lex's boast — a ploy to ingratiate himself with a trustee — that he, a Muggle, could create a working wand.

Of course, that was pure fantasy, or so Lex had thought at the time. Now, admiring his handiwork, he had to admit he'd been short-sighted. With the prospect of incurring Malfoy's displeasure, a situation Lex knew he must avoid if he was to survive long enough to escape, he had to find a way to make a wand. And now, Malfoy would be coming by to check on his progress. Lex just wished there was a way for him to _test_ the wand. As a non-magical, he could not perform magic, wand or not.

There was a slight shudder — Lex had felt the floor shift, almost imperceptibly. _That was strange_, he thought. But then, he was in a wizard's prison somewhere in the North Sea — he could hardly be expected to know what was normal for such a place!

He heard footsteps approaching his cell. The peephole opened and a voice drawled, "Mr. Luthor?"

"Lunchtime already?" Luthor asked, drily. "I hope it's not onion soup again."

"Have you completed your project, Luthor?" the voice asked, humorlessly.

"All done," Luthor answered. "I think you'll be pleased."

"Hand it through the hatch in the door," the voice commanded.

Luthor picked up his makeshift wand and slowly approached the door. He was not eager to give it up and lose any leverage he might have. He paused at the door. "Aren't you coming in?" he asked. "I'd like to see you try it out."

"Just pass it through," the voice ordered once again.

Reluctantly, Luthor put the tip of the wand into the hatch and passed it through. The wand was taken from his hand and the hatch closed. There was several moments of silence. "How's it look?" Luthor asked, with false cheerfulness.

"Step back from the door," the voice drawled. Luthor moved back to the work table, watching the door intently. There was a _crack_ on the other side of the door and it swung open. Lucius Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, Luthor's wand in his hand.

"Crude, but serviceable," Malfoy said, in an appraising tone. He looked at Luthor with a grudging admiration. "For a Muggle, Mr. Luthor, you certainly are full of surprises."

"I find being full of surprises keeps me alive," Luthor retorted. "I take it you are satisfied with the wand, then?"

"It will do," Malfoy sniffed, in a bored tone. "It is not very responsive, but I should not expect a mere Muggle to create an Ollivander wand, I suppose."

"Are you interested in obtaining more wands?" Luthor asked.

"Perhaps," Malfoy said, non-committally. "How fast could you produce, say, a dozen wands?"

"How fast could you procure the necessary materials for me to make them?" Luthor countered. Good, good — it looked like he had some leverage now!

"Soon enough," Malfoy answered.

"And there is the matter of my fee," Luthor pressed. "You do recall I said there would be a price for my services."

"I do remember some words to that effect, the last time we talked," Malfoy mused. "However, before we discuss those details, I have someone to introduce to you."

A tall, skeletally thin man stepped through the doorway, dressed in a black robe and hood that hid his features in the dim light. "Mr. Luthor," he said, in a high, clear voice that dripped contempt.

Luthor glanced at Malfoy. The man's demeanor had changed drastically since the tall man's appearance. Before, he had been haughty and exuded confidence and authority. Now, in the presence of this man, he had become withdrawn and obsequious, bowing to the black-robed figure. "Mr. Luthor, this is the Dark Lord."

From what Luthor had learned about this man, he was a dangerous psychopath, killing people indiscriminately, at whatever whim struck him. Not that he objected to dangerous psychopaths — he was considered one himself. But it would be best, Luthor thought, to treat this person with kid gloves.

"Oh Magnificent One," Luthor said, bowing to the hooded figure. "It is an honor to meet you."

"I'm sure it is," the hooded figure said, humorlessly. He reached up, drawing back his hood to reveal a long, pale, hairless face, with red eyes and a slit for a mouth. "Lucius told me of your claim, to be capable of creating a wand even though you are only a Muggle. I must confess," he added candidly. "I did not expect you to succeed."

"Thank you, Great One," Luthor bowed again, laying it on thick. "I knew I would be able to create the wand once I had the proper materials."

Voldemort's lips quirked. "Come now, Luthor — no need to lie to me," he said, softly. "You had no idea you could create a wand until you did so."

_Legilimency_, Luthor thought. He'd have to guard his thoughts more carefully. "You are correct, Magnificent One, I apologize for not being honest with you."

"I expect no less from Muggles," Voldemort said, his voice nearly a sneer. "But you should know that I detest liars, and will punish you if I find you are lying to me again."

"Yes, Awesome One," Luthor bowed again.

"And you may cease your insincere posturing," Voldemort continued. "I am here to offer you a proposition."

Luthor smiled inwardly. Hopefully this would be something he could parley into a way out of this hell-hole. "I am eager to hear anything you would like to discuss with me, Great One."

"Lucius tells me you are a very intelligent, for a Muggle," Voldemort began. "We have found rumors about your career as a criminal mastermind in America over the past decade. I wish to put that intelligence to work — for me."

"It would be a great honor to work for you," Luthor said. _And a chance for me to get out of here, hopefully_. "What is it you wish me to do? Do you wish me to construct more wands for you?"

"Hardly," Voldemort smiled condescendingly. "I already have an accomplished wandmaker in my, shall we say, 'employ.'" He gave Luthor an appraising look. "Are you acquainted with the person known as Harry Potter?" he asked.

Luthor nodded slowly. "He and I have crossed paths in the recent past. He foiled my attempt to kill Superman in his own Fortress of Solitude a few months ago."  
"Ah, Superman," Voldemort nodded. "He concerns me almost as much as Harry Potter does. Do you wish to kill him?"

"I do, Dark Lord," Luthor answered immediately. "He has been a thorn in my side for too long."

"Just as Harry Potter has been one in mine," Voldemort replied. "I have it on good authority that Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts." He looked at Malfoy. "Your son has been an effective spy at the school, Lucius."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius bowed deeply.

"Let us hope he is able to accomplish his mission before the end of the school year," Voldemort added, in a warning tone. "Otherwise, his punishment will be severe."

Malfoy's expression was profoundly unhappy at hearing this, Luthor saw, but he kept his head bowed, his eyes averted from Voldemort's gaze. "Draco will succeed, my lord," Malfoy said softly. "He is quite motivated to please you, I'm sure."

"No doubt," Voldemort's tone was laced with heavy irony. "Considering that your and your wife's lives are forfeit if he fails."

_This guy doesn't pull any punches!_ Luthor thought. _My kind of guy_.

Voldemort turned back to Luthor. "You will accompany me back to my headquarters, Malfoy Manor, which Lucius and his family have graciously supplied to my Death Eaters and myself."

"As you wish, oh Great One," Luthor said.

"And what of me, lord?" Malfoy asked, hopefully. "Will I be allowed to return home as well?"

Voldemort shook his head once. "I need you here, Lucius, as my eyes and ears in Azkaban, until I am ready to move against the Ministry and Hogwarts." Malfoy nodded unhappily.

"Make sure the guards are properly rewarded for looking the other way while I was here," Voldemort added. "When I have need of you, however, I will return and they will feel my power." He picked up a candle from Luthor's workbench and tapped it with his wand. The candle glowed blue momentarily and Voldemort held it toward Luthor.

"Ready to begin planning the destruction of Harry Potter and Superman, Luthor?" he said. "Merely touch this and we will begin."

Luthor nodded agreeably, but kept his thoughts carefully neutral. He had some misgivings about this, but pushed them down in his mind, repressing them. This Voldemort character was not doing this from the kindness of his heart, Luthor knew; he suspected the Dark Lord and kindness had little to do with one another. While Luthor appreciated ruthlessness, he did not care to subject himself to that quality in others. He slowly reached out to touch the candle in Voldemort's hand. As he did, a whirlwind of color surrounded them, and he and the Dark Lord disappeared from his cell.


	24. The Fate of Lord Voldemort

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
****The **_**Fate**_** of Lord Voldemort**

_Updated August 5, 2011_

After the thestral-drawn carriage ride from Hogsmeade Station to the front doors of the castle, Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way up to the seventh floor and the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron found that their beds were still in the dorm room, along with Neville's, Dean's and Seamus's. None of the latter were yet in the room, so Harry unpacked both his and Ron's trunks with a wave of his hand. Clothing and other belongings flew across the room and into their wardrobes, the bed covers were turned down, and their pajamas were laid out on the bed for them.

"Brilliant!" Ron said. "Now that's impressive magic!" He jumped up and went over to the door, then looked back at Harry. "D'you want join the party?" There was a return celebration going on in the Gryffindor common room, with bottles of butterbeer smuggled in by Seamus and Dean.

"Can't, sorry," Harry apologized. "I have to go talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Ron looked disappointed. "Harry, c'mon. You've got loads of time to talk to Dumbledore! It can't be about us coming back, can it? I mean, if he didn't want us back here I doubt he'd have let us off the train."

"No, it's not that," Harry demurred. "It's just some — stuff — I have to talk to him about."

Ron shrugged. "Okay, see you later." He went off down to the party.

Harry, knowing he would be waylaid by scores of Gryffindors if he tried to leave through the common room, teleported himself to the seventh floor corridor, in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Harry stepped up to the gargoyle. He didn't know the current password, but that wouldn't be an impediment to him now. "Well?" he said to it, expectantly. In response the gargoyle leapt to one side, allowing him access to the staircase. "Thanks," Harry said, and rode the moving stairs up to the large double doors that led to Dumbledore's office. Harry knocked softly on the door.

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice said, and Harry stepped inside. Dumbledore was hunched over his desk, doing something Harry very rarely saw him do — reading. "Have a seat," Dumbledore said without looking up, waving to a nearby chair. "I'll be finished in a second." A bit amused, Harry took a seat. He'd never seen the professor so distracted.

Dumbledore finally looked up, noticing Harry for the first time. "Hello, Harry!" he said, surprise in his voice. "Welcome back to Hogwarts."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, cordially. "I wanted to come see you, to thank you for being so understanding in allowing us to return to Hogwarts." Harry had contacted Dumbledore a few days earlier, requesting transfer for Ron, Hermione, Ginny and himself from the Academy to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore had immediately agreed, saying he would work out the details with Professor Potter.

"I hope the professor wasn't too disappointed to lose us," Harry added.

"He'll be fine," Dumbledore said, gently. "I'm sure he would understand, whatever your reasons are."

"I hope_ I_ understand," Harry retorted candidly. "A lot of things happened to me while I was there — the new magical subjects I learned, the time I spent in the Dark Dimension — it was all very illuminating. And empowering," he added.

"How so?" Dumbledore asked, interested.

Harry took a deep breath. "My magical power has been increased exponentially from where I was at when I left Hogwarts. With your permission, I intend to increase my knowledge by reading all the books in the Hogwarts Library."

Dumbledore looked impressed. "A daunting task, I must say, Harry — the Library holds almost 100,000 books.

Harry did a quick calculation in his head. "At 10 seconds per book, eight hours per day of reading, I should be able to go through them all in about a month."

"Impressive," Dumbledore spoke as if he hadn't truly considered Harry's abilities until this moment. There was a guarded look about him, however. "Do you think it wise to do this, Harry?"

"What do you mean?" The question surprised Harry.

"I mean, that much power can be seductive," Dumbledore pointed out. "Even now, your power must exceed the magical capacity of the entire British Wizarding community combined."

"Most likely," Harry agreed. "In fact —" he leaned forward suddenly, placing his left palm on Dumbledore's shriveled right hand. There was an intense white flash between their hands, and Dumbledore pulled his hand back, looking at it in shock. It was completely healed.

"Harry? How —?" Dumbledore looked astounded by what Harry had just done. "You — you negated Voldemort's curse!"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I learned quite a bit in the Dark Dimension, as I said. The magic I learned is much more powerful than the magic taught at Hogwarts. I don't know if I could bring someone back after death, but as long as there's a breath of life in them, I can save them."

"I — I don't know what to say," Dumbledore spoke hesitantly, as if he couldn't grasp what had just happened. "My hand feels completely cured."

"Hopefully, that you're happy to be free of the curse and can continue to run Hogwarts as long as you can," Harry replied, a bit dryly.

"Indeed." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as they looked at Harry, and a smile crossed his lips. "I _am_ very grateful, Harry. I'm afraid I had resigned myself to dying within the year."

"Not anymore," Harry told him. "Unless," he added, half to himself, Malfoy gets to you first."

One of Dumbledore's eyebrow shot up. "What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "I've heard about the attempts on your life, Professor," he said. "It's pretty easy to guess who's behind it. I _know_ Draco has the Dark Mark on his left arm." He tapped his forehead next to his eyes. "I checked."

"Harry, Draco is in a very precarious situation," Dumbledore explained. "He has been ordered (or so I believe) by Voldemort, among other things, to dispose of me, with dire consequences if he fails."

"There's going to be dire consequences if he _succeeds_," Harry said, darkly.

"I do not wish you to harm him, Harry," Dumbledore said, and there was a tone of command in his voice. "You must promise me you will do him no harm."

Harry looked mutinous, but after a moment sighed with resignation. "All right," he said, sullenly. "But I'm _not_ going to make such a promise for Voldemort."

"Nor would I expect you to," Dumbledore agreed, mildly. "But as I recall, you wished to put aside the responsibility of dealing with Voldemort, to let others handle it."

"I've been reading the _Prophet_ the past few days," Harry remarked. "It says that there have been more and more disappearances since this summer. It's pretty clear that Voldemort is not going away, whatever my wishes to avoid the situation might be. So I've decided to stop avoiding them."

"Meaning?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Meaning, I intend to deal with him," Harry replied.

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, surely you remember what I've told you about Voldemort. He has created as many as seven Horcruxes — until they are all found and destroyed, Voldemort cannot be permanently killed."

Harry grinned darkly. "There are worse things he could do than die, Professor."

If Dumbledore was unsettled by that remark, he remained silent. Instead, he said, "I would like you to view some memories in my Pensieve, Harry — I think they will give you a better understanding of Voldemort and how he came to be."

Harry nodded agreement, and the two bent over the Pensieve, viewing the memories of Bob Ogden's meeting with the Gaunt family, Dumbledore's first meeting with Tom Marvolo Riddle, and the altered memory of Horace Slughorn's conversation with Riddle about Horcruxes.

"I am convinced Horace tampered with his recollection of Tom's questions about Horcruxes," Dumbledore said after they left the Pensieve and were back in the headmaster's study.

"It looks that way," Harry agreed. "It wasn't a single memory, but two or three memories patched together after the fact. It was clumsily done."

"I brought Horace here this year in hopes of retrieving the real memory from his mind," Dumbledore said. "I had hoped that you would try to coax it from him — Horace would very much like to number you among the many students he has 'collected' over the years."

"And I spoiled that by going to the Academy," Harry realized. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"I don't blame you, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "I understand the desire to experience new ideas, to learn new things."

Harry stood. "I want to continue to do that," he said. "Do I have your permission to read all of the Library's books, including the Restricted Section?"

In reply, Dumbledore took out a piece of parchment and wrote briefly on it. "Give this to Madam Pince," he said, handing it to Harry. "It will give you complete access to the Restricted Section."

"That will probably get her knickers in a twist," Harry commented impulsively, with a chuckle.

"A most unsettling image, I must admit," the professor said, bemusedly. "But unfortunately somewhat accurate, if I know Irma."

Harry nodded and left the professor's study, thinking about joining the party in the Gryffindor common room, if it was still going on. He might as well enjoy himself while he was back at Hogwarts.

=ooo=

At Malfoy Manor, Luthor found himself once again living in the manner to which he'd become accustomed since acquiring the Vanderworth fortune. He had his own room, a spacious and finely furnished bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed and canopy, his own bathroom with a shower and a hot tub, and a desk for studying. Compared to Azkaban, it was the lap of luxury.

The lady of the manor, Narcissa Malfoy, was aloof but cordial, at least in deference to Luthor's status as the Dark Lord's guest. She rarely spoke at dinner, the only time Luthor saw her, though all the meals were prepared and ready every day at 8 a.m., noon, and 6 p.m. The meals were quite good, filling and abundant; Luthor found himself beginning to fill out a bit.

Voldemort (no one in the manor referred to him by that name, of course; Luthor found he preferred "Dark Lord" or just "my lord") joined them daily for the evening meal. Several other guests were usually present for the evening meal as well, and Luthor memorized their names: Yaxley, Dolohov, a huge blond man named Rowle, Gibbon, and Mulciber. They discussed potential victims, people who were resisting their recruiting advances or who actively worked against them.

Luthor watched and listened for the first few weeks he was there in Malfoy Manor. Voldemort seemed content just to have him there and listening to their conversations. Most of the other people in the house either avoided him altogether or spoke cordially but curtly to him, as if they had been ordered by Voldemort to treat him as a guest.

The one person Luthor was leery of, other than the Dark Lord himself, was the woman Bellatrix Lestrange. She was quite mad, Luthor had come to realize. There was not a hint of self-control in her except in regard to Voldemort; she killed indiscriminately, according to her reports. Luthor learned to avoid her attention, if he could. He didn't want some "accident" on her part to do him in.

"Well, Mr. Luthor," Voldemort finally turned to him one evening, near the end of dinner. "You've been privy to our plans for some time now. What do you think of them so far?"

Luthor put down the goblet of wine he'd been sipping. "Oh Great One," he replied. "Forgive me for pointing this out, but I wonder if you are being somewhat shortsighted in your actions."

There was muttering around the dinner table; the other men gathered there did not care to hear the Dark Lord's strategies criticized. Voldemort put up a pale, long-fingered hand, signaling for silence. "Interesting," he said. "What do you mean by 'short-sighted?' We are making preparations to seize control of the Ministry, and by this summer we will enter Dumbledore's school itself, ridding ourselves both of him and Harry Potter, who will be brought to me, to die personally by my hand."

"Harry Potter is now much more powerful than you may realize, Great One," Luthor pointed out. "He has somehow gained superhuman abilities similar to Superman's, the do-gooder who was operating in Metropolis and across America up until five years ago."

"That is why you are here, Mr. Luthor," Voldemort told him. "You know this Superman's vulnerabilities, do you not? If Harry Potter has the same powers as this Superman you speak of, he must have the same weaknesses."

"That's true," Luthor agreed. "However, it is difficult to obtain the material needed to weaken him."

"What is this material," Voldemort demanded.

"It is a extraterrestrial substance called 'kryptonite,'" Luthor explained. It was created when his home world, Krypton, exploded long ago. Some of it has made its way to Earth."

"So this Superman is not of this world?" Voldemort asked.

"No, Great One," Luthor replied.

"I wonder why the Muggle governments of the world allow him to freely roam about the globe, when so many of their policies on illegal aliens are as draconian as they are," Voldemort mused.

"He is a do-gooder," Luthor explained again. "They turn a blind eye to his alien status as long as he helps people and averts disasters."

There was more mutterings around the table. "Disgraceful! Blasphemy!" several of the men growled angrily. Voldemort let them have their say, then turned to Luthor once again.

"I will expect you to devise a plan to neutralize this Superman, and Harry Potter's powers as well, so that we may destroy them both," Voldemort said. "I leave you to deal with Superman, but Potter is _mine_."

"As you wish, my lord," Luthor bowed deferentially. After a moment, he spoke once again, this time more hesitantly. "I will need to contact my men, Great One, in order to have them search out any kryptonite that may have fallen to Earth recently."

"You do not already possess some of this substance?" Voldemort looked annoyed at this, and Luthor noted the gleam that came in the Bellatrix's eyes at the prospect of his punishment.

"No, Great One," Luthor was forced to admit. "I used it all during my last attempt to destroy Superman."

"Why did you fail?" Voldemort demanded.

"Harry Potter saved him."

Voldemort sat back in his chair, steepling his long fingers before him. "So you have a reason to wish Harry Potter dead as well, then."

"Yes," Luthor said. "But I understand that he is for you alone, Great One."

"Do remember that," Voldemort said, warningly. "We have now confirmed that Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts," he continued. "I have men stationed near the school in order to monitor his comings and goings. If possible, they will capture him or anyone he is seen with, then bring them to me. I may utilize your services then, as I understand you are proficient in bending wizards to your will."

"I will help in any way I can, Great One," Luthor assured him.

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. "Good. Contact your men in whatever manner you see fit. One of my men will accompany you if you need to use Muggle methods to do so."

"Thank you, Great One," Luthor bowed again, and Voldemort dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Mulciber," the Dark Lord pointed to one of his men. "Accompany Mr. Luthor anywhere he needs to go, but be sure to bring him back."

"Yes, Dark Lord," Mulciber nodded, and he stood as Luthor did. Luthor thought furiously as he and the Death Eater left the manor, walking down to the entrance, a large iron-wrought gate formed of intricate patterns of metal. The gates opened automatically at their approach. Mulciber suddenly gripped Luthor's arm.

"Where do you need to go?" he asked, roughly. Luthor jerked his arm away from the man.

"Watch the material," he said mildly. "I need a telephone."

Mulciber seemed to steel himself, then extended an arm. "Hold on," he said. Luthor looked at the arm, then put his own arm around it. There was a sudden wrench, then a feeling of compression and constriction, as if he were being pushed through a rubber tube, and they appeared on a city street next to a public telephone.

Luthor bent double, gasping for breath. "What did you just _do_ to me?" he asked, between gasps. "Was that Apparation?"

Mulciber was enjoying Luthor's discomfort. "Never Apparated before, Muggle? You have now. The telephone is right there — use it."

Luthor took a few more deep breaths before standing upright again. He picked up the phone, glad that he had set up some code phrases to let his men know the predicament he was in. Escaping Voldemort should be easier than breaking out of Azkaban, at least.

=ooo=

Ron, Hermione and Ginny settled back into the routine of Hogwarts classwork with relative ease. The only issue any of the teachers had with them was that they did not always bother to use their wands like the other students did. This also generated a fair amount of curiosity from the other students, who wanted to know how to cast spells wandlessly, too. "Maybe we should start up Dumbledore's Army again," Ginny suggested to Hermione and Ron one day at lunch. "We might even persuade Harry to run it again."

"I don't think he's interested in that," Ron observed. "He's not even interested in Quidditch anymore." Both Ron and Ginny had rejoined the Gryffindor Quidditch team; Ron was the Keeper. Katie Bell was Captain and Chaser, along with Demelza Robins and Dean Thomas. Two younger Gryffindors, Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, were the Beaters. Ginny had won the Seeker position back from Cormac McLaggen, a large, burly fellow better suited as a Beater except for his need to boast about himself and hog the spotlight as much as possible. He was a mediocre Beater at best, Ginny determined. As a Seeker, he was abysmal.

"We can still ask him," Ginny insisted. She hadn't had much opportunity to talk with Harry since their return to school; he was either off in some special study group all day long, or missing from the school. She had pested Ron to find out where he went during the times he went missing, but Ron had only said that Harry didn't tell him what he was doing when he wasn't in his special classes.

"You know what we need," Ginny suddenly realized. "We need the Marauder's Map to find out where he's at."

"Well, good luck getting ahold of _that_," Ron retorted. "I haven't seen it in months. I think Harry keeps it in his trunk anymore."

"So?" Ginny sneered. "Why don't you get into his trunk and get it, then?"

"Because his trunk's bloody impossible to break into, anymore," Ron muttered. "I've tried, believe me!"

Hermione was frowning at this. "What are you doing trying to break into Harry's things for, Ron?" she wanted to know. "Would you like it if he did that to _you_?"

"He doesn't _have_ to break into my things to know what's in them," Ron reminded her. He pantomimed beams shooting from his eyes. "He can just look inside whenever he wants," he said, lowering his voice to keep others at the table from hearing him.

Ginny shook her head. "I can't believe Harry has gotten that powerful." Ron and Hermione had let her in on Harry's secret, without his knowledge. "Super-powers _and_ magic! He must be unstoppable."

"From what he told us," Hermione confided, quietly. "Superman now has magical powers as well, even more than Harry does, if his defeat of Clea in the Dark Dimension is any indication." Harry had told his two best friends about what had happened in the Dark Dimension over the Christmas holidays, out of Ginny's hearing, but they had filled her in on it as well.

"What I want to know is, why isn't he doing something about the disappearances that have been happening across Britain?" Ginny wanted to know. She held up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with the headline: **Disappearances Increasing Daily**.

"I don't know," Hermione answered, with a worried frown. "He knows about them, surely."

"There's not much good in having all that power, and keeping it to yourself," Ron pointed out. Ginny nodded agreement.

"Oh!" Hermione said suddenly. "Look at this!" She pointed to an article at the bottom of the first page: **Supergirl Seen Again Averting Disaster in France**. "It says she stopped a flood from destroying several towns," she continued, skimming the article. "The _Prophet_ sure seems interested in what she's doing."

"I wonder if they think she's a witch," Ron suggested. "Maybe the Ministry wants to question her about it."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Ginny complained. "It seems like they always look a gift horse in the mouth. I wonder what Harry knows about her?"

"Why would you think he does?" Hermione asked, warily.

"Well, he's got super-powers, like her," Ginny pointed out. "Maybe they've met. I wonder if that's why he hasn't been stopping Death Eater — because he's busy with a new girl!" There was an unmistakable hint of jealousy in her tone.

"Look," Hermione retorted. "I'm sure Harry has his reasons for not going after the Death Eaters who are doing this. I'm sure he'll tell us what they are — soon," she finished, her words faltering.

"It better be sooner than later," Ginny snorted. "The next Hogsmeade visit is coming up April 12, less than a week away, and already I'm hearing rumors that we may not be allowed to go, because of what happened to Katie last year."

"Not go to Hogsmeade?" Ron looked appalled at the idea. "How're we going to get candy and other stuff we need for the rest of the year?"

"You may have to do without, poor ickle Ronnie," Ginny said, in mock sympathy.

"I better talk to Harry about this," Ron decided. He stood. "I'm going to leave a note for him on his bed, to meet with me as soon as possible!" He ran off, leaving Hermione and Ginny smiling at one another. It was easy to get Ron to do things for them — just let him think it was his idea.

"What do you think Harry can do?" Ginny asked Hermione. "How powerful is he, _really_?"

"Powerful enough to do just about anything he wants, from what he's told us," Hermione replied. "I don't know if Ron can convince him to stop the Death Eaters, though, if he hasn't already done it himself. Maybe he's got more important things on his mind, though."

"More important than stopping people from being _killed_?" Ginny looked skeptical. "I'd like to hear what that is!"

"So would I," Hermione agreed. She watched as Ron reached the doors of the Great Hall, pulled one open, and passed through to the Entrance Hall. "Maybe Ron has the right idea — maybe we should confront Harry directly on this."

"I'm game if you are," Ginny declared. "He'd better have a good reason for doing nothing."

=ooo=

"What do you have for us tonight, Mr. Luthor?" Voldemort began, not with reports from his other Death Eaters that Thursday evening, but with Lex himself. Luthor had been in contact with his men aboard the _Alexandria_ for several weeks now; they had been scouring Europe and Northern Africa for any kryptonite that might have fallen there.

And they had come through. Luthor reached into his pocket, bringing out a gold chain with a glowing green crystalline rock hanging from it, like a pendant. "I have kryptonite," Luthor said, with satisfaction.

Voldemort gestured toward him, and the chain floated from Luthor's grasp into the Dark Lord's long-fingered hand. He looked at it closely. "Very interesting," he said at last. "This will weaken Harry Potter?"

"Yes, Great One," Luthor nodded. "And Superman as well. Neither of them will be able to approach closer than 10 feet without feeling its effects."

"And those effects are?"

"Weakness and nausea will occur immediately," Luthor explained. "Continued exposure will begin poisoning his blood, bringing death within 10 to 15 minutes."

"Excellent, excellent," Voldemort murmured. "How many of these do you have?"

"A half-dozen," Luthor replied. "That is all the kryptonite we could procure in the immediate time frame. My men are continuing to look for more, to create more pendants."

"I require all of the pendants you have now," Voldemort said, softly in his high, clear voice. "We will use them against Harry Potter, to weaken him so he may be brought before me, that I may kill him personally."

"As you wish, Great One," Luthor agreed, though inwardly he was not happy to give up all the kryptonite he had. Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow.

"You don't like that, Mr. Luthor?" he asked. Luthor clamped down on his thoughts, but the damage had been done.

"My apologize, Great One," Luthor began, trying to mitigate damage. "I was merely concerned with —"

Voldemort suddenly pointed his wand at Luthor, saying "_Crucio_!" Intense pain washed over Luthor, and he cried out, falling from his chair to the floor. He writhed on the floor, seemingly for hours, before the pain subsided.

"I have told you I do not appreciate liars, Luthor," Voldemort still spoke softly, but there was now an edge to his words. "I require that you do as I command; I am not interested in your approval or disapproval. Do you understand?"

After a moment Luthor nodded shakily. "Y-yes, Great One."

"Make the other pendants available to Mulciber by the end of this day," Voldemort ordered. "And be advised, I will not be pleased if you fail to do so. Now, leave us — I have things of import to discuss with my men."

Luthor stood shakily and staggered from the room, barely remembering to bow to the Dark Lord at the door. If he hadn't been completely determined to escape before, today's events had convinced him. He would have to stay at least until he could get the kryptonite back, however. There was a silver lining in all this, at least: if Voldemort's men managed to bring Harry Potter here, to Malfoy Manor, after weakening him with kryptonite, that would be one less super-powered individual on the planet.

=ooo=

Friday after the last class had dismissed for the day, Harry put away the final book read had read for the day, bring the total read this Friday to 2013 books. Tomorrow was the Hogsmeade weekend, but Harry had no intention of waiting until then to travel there; he had been doing so ever since he'd returned to Hogwarts, on almost a daily basis, to see Kara.

Harry gestured at the stack of books on the table in front of him. The books immediately rose into the air, floating back to their respective places on the shelves of the Restricted Section, where Harry had established a place to use for his reading. With the book put away, Harry let his mind relax for a moment. He had absorbed the information of over two thousand books today, and in the past three months, he had gone through over three-quarters of the books in the entire Library, adopting a more leisurely pace for his reading than the three thousand per day he'd originally planned on.

Before he left, however, Harry focused his vision, searching the castle for Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Ron had talked to him about the recent disappearance of both wizards and Muggles around Britain, wondering what he (Harry) planned to do about that. From what conversations he'd overheard between Hermione and Ginny, they were also interested in his reasons as well. Harry had been avoiding them; he had no good reason for his lack of action other than it would be impractical to try and patrol the whole of Britain for Death Eater activity.

The question still gnawed at Harry, whatever he did or didn't do about it. When he had talked with Clark, months ago, about what his burden entailed, Clark pointed out that it was impossible to know how much intervention was too much or too little; in the end, you had to do what you felt was right. When Clark was active as Superman, he tried to avert disasters that were beyond the capacity of humans to prevent. He also intervened in situations such as bank robberies, industrial accidents, and the like — situations that were preventable but which would have major repercussions in society or the daily lives of people. He had even been known to come to aid of individuals when he observed them in distress — a woman whose cat was stuck in a tree, for example.

Harry wished he could talk further with Clark about this, to present his dilemma about the disappearance of people across Britain at the hands of Death Eaters. But he and Clark were estranged now, because of Clark's erratic behavior toward Kara and him. Clark did not want Kara being active as Supergirl, for some reason; he was now working, Harry supposed, at coming up with a process to take Harry's super-powers from him and return them to himself. Harry didn't understand why he was doing that. Even stranger still, Clark had made no attempt to find either him or Kara since they left Kansas several months ago. Why had he not sought them out?

Well, it was no use worrying about these things until something else developed about them. Harry concentrated for a moment, disappearing from the Restricted Section of the Library and reappearing a moment later outside Three Broomsticks, in Hogsmeade. Stepping inside, he found it busy, as usual, with students, most of whom were of age and therefore allowed to leave Hogwarts whenever they wanted, not just on Hogsmeade weekends. There were also numerous citizens from the city itself, either enjoying drinks or early dinners. Most of the food at Three Broomsticks was simple fare: fish and chips, pot pies, or bangers and mash, plus a few other entrees.

Madame Rosemerta, the inn's owner, gave Harry a short wave as she headed toward the bar to pick up drinks for a table across the room. Harry smiled at her; Rosemerta had seen more of him in the past three months than she had in the previous five years. Harry walked over to a table and sat down, waiting for the waitress to come over and take his order.

The waitress appeared, a pretty, curvaceous girl with auburn hair and an engaging smile. "Hi Harry," she said, beaming happily at him. "Do you want the usual today?"

"Hi, Kara," Harry smiled back at her. It was their little joke that Harry always ordered a butterbeer when he came in Three Broomsticks to see her. "Maybe I should try something different today — what do you think?"

"Whatever you want," Kara said airily, refusing to be teased. "It's your choice, you know."

"I suppose a butterbeer, then," Harry decided. "When do you go on break?"

"In a few minutes," Kara answered. "Rosemerta usually times my breaks for around the time you show up — as if you didn't already know that!"

"Just making sure," Harry said, innocently. Kara rolled her eyes and flounced off to get a bottle of butterbeer. Harry sat back, letting his magical perception pervade the room. He could feel eyes on him, eyes that held more than casual interest in his appearance in the pub. He smiled slightly to himself. Had the Death Eaters finally come for him? He would wait and see — it should be interesting to see what they would do. Whatever it was, Harry was certain he could control the situation.

Kara returned, setting the bottle of butterbeer before him; she then leaned on the table, shaking her head. "What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Just felt weird for a moment," she answered, almost sounding groggy. "Like I was tired or sick." She looked up at him. "But that shouldn't happen, should it? Not to _me_."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "I think something's going on — there may be Death Eaters present in Three Broomsticks."

"But how could they affect me?" Kara wanted to know. "Do you think they're using some kind of magic on us?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "I'd be able to detect it." He pondered for a moment. "I think kryptonite is probably involved. Where did you begin to feel weak?"

"I dropped some drinks at table 15 before I brought you your butterbeer," she answered. Harry glanced furtively at the table; there were four men there sipping on firewhiskey shot glasses. Harry recognized on of them as Mulciber, a known Death Eater. That pretty much clinched things in Harry's mind.

"Try to avoid that table, if you can," he told her, softly. "And when the tables between theirs and mine clear out, don't seat any other people there."

"Rosemerta may not like that," Kara pointed out.

"Can't be helped," Harry shrugged. "I want a clear line of fire between them and me."

"Karazel!" Rosemerta suddenly called out. "Take table 20, please!"

Kara and Harry both smiled at one another. "Yes, 'Karazel,'" he teased. Kara had adopted the name "Karazel Jordon" while she was living in Hogsmeade—it was a condensation of her name, Kara Zor-El, and her uncle Jor-El, Clark's Kryptonian father. "You'd better get busy."

"Rosemerta would _love_ you," Kara groused. "Work, work, work, that's all you want from me."

"That's not all I want," Harry disagreed, a smile on his lips, and Kara giggled lightly, then winked at him before walking over to table 20 to take the customers' orders.

Harry sat back in his chair, sipping at his butterbeer, then tuned his super-hearing to listen in on the conversations going on at table 15.

"_How much longer should we wait_?" one Death Eater asked.

"_Not much longer_," Mulciber replied. "_I want more people in here, to see what happens to someone who defies the Dark Lord. And if some of them get hurt, it'll only drive the point home even more strongly_." Harry frowned at this — they had no compunction about putting anyone in harm's way!

"_What was going on with that waitress, do you think_?" another Death Eater brought up. "_Why did she look so queasy when she dropped off our drinks_?"

"_Who knows_?" the first Death Eater said. "_Maybe she's not feeling well_."

"_She seemed fine until she came to our table_," Mulciber pointed out. "_I wonder if she was affected by the pendants we're wearing_." _That_ interested Harry — what kind of pendants were they wearing?

Before he could glance around to check, Mulciber said, "_It's not important, anyway — it's time to take Potter_." The four men stood and began moving toward Harry's table. Harry felt a wave of nausea and instantly he knew what the pendants were — kryptonite!

The Death Eaters were pulling out wands and pointing them at Harry. His strength was fading fast, but that wasn't the only power at his disposal. As the Death Eaters shouted "_Stupefy_!" en masse, to hit him with multiple Stunners, Harry teleported away, appearing behind them at the table the Death Eaters had just vacated.

"What the hell happened?" One of the Death Eaters shouted, as people ran screaming from the inn. "Nobody tried to Vanish him, did they?"

"Behind you," Harry said. As the men whirled around, wands pointed to him, Harry said, "_Expelliarmus_," and waved a hand at them. All four of their wands flew out of their hands and toward Harry, who reached up and plucked them from the air as they reached him. "You'd better surrender," he told them. "You can't hope to beat me, with or without your wands."

"Rush him!" Mulciber shouted, and the four men started toward him. His super-speed kicked in and the men slowed almost to motionlessness. Off to one side, he saw Kara starting to move toward them at super-speed herself. But as she closed with them, the kryptonite radiation began to affect her, slowing her down to normal speed. Harry deliberated for only a moment before gesturing toward the men once again, transforming the kryptonite in their pendants to inert green crystal.

The men continued to approach in slow motion. Kara, her speed returned, reached the hindmost Death and grabbed him by the collar of his robe, bringing him to an abrupt halt. At the same moment Harry materialized a metal bar and tossed it toward her. She deftly caught it out of the air and twisted it around the wrists of the Death Eater even as his legs went out from under him and he dropped to the floor.

The other three Death Eaters were continuing toward Harry, and he let them continue until they were only a few feet away before waving a hand toward them, generating a sleep spell that dropped all three men to the floor, unconscious.

Kara looked at the four men on the floor. "Death Eaters, right?" she asked, looking up at Harry, who nodded. "What were they trying to do?"

"They were trying to capture me," Harry told her. "They all have kryptonite pendants on under their robes."

"Oh, so _that's_ what I felt when I approached their table," Kara realized.

Harry nodded grimly, then stepped over to the one Death Eater who was still half-conscious; the wind had been knocked out of him when he hit the floor. Harry hauled him easily to his feet by the front of his robes. "Not quite the outcome you expected, is it?" he growled at the man, who stared at him fearfully. "Were you supposed to kill me, or just bring me to Voldemort?"

"Uh —" the Death Eater was looking around wildly, trying to see which of his comrades were still present. He saw them lying on the floor, unconscious, and his eyes widened with terror. "Uh — we were — we were going to —"

"Save it," Harry snapped. "I can guess. Voldemort wants me for himself, doesn't he? Well, it's your lucky day," he went on. He touched the metal bar wrapped around the man's wrist, which disappeared. Harry then handed the man's wand back to him. "Go back to Voldemort. Tell him that I'm coming for him, very soon. Tell him to prepare for death." He released the man, who stared at him a moment, then turned and fled from Three Broomsticks. Harry and Kara both watched him go, along with the few patrons who still remained in the room, along with Madam Rosemerta and another waitress.

"You sent him back to Voldemort," Kara said, softly. "I wonder what he'll say when he hears you're coming for him?"

"It's supposed to be what he wants," Harry replied, equally softly. "But I don't think he's prepared for what I can do now, compared to the last time we met."

Order was slowly returning to Three Broomsticks. Customers were taking their seats once again, people were coming in from the street, asking questions about what had just happened. Kara, a bit unnerved by her close encounter with kryptonite, asked, "What happened last time you and he met?"

"He nearly killed me," Harry said, curtly. "I didn't even try to protect myself when he cast the Killing Curse at me. Dumbledore saved me."

"Oh Rao, Harry," Kara breathed. "Can you face him now? Do you _want_ to kill him?"

"I want this to be over," Harry said. "The prophecy stated, 'Neither can live while the other survives.' I think that means that either he kills me or I kill him. I don't know any other way around that, and I don't expect anyone to take on my responsibilities."

"Be careful, Harry," Kara said. "Don't lose yourself trying to fulfill prophecies and the wishes of others. A life once taken, even Voldemort's, can never be returned."

"I know," Harry said. He sighed heavily. "I'm going, now," he told her. "I'll be in Kansas — I think I need to talk to Clark about this."

Kara frowned. "Do you think he'll listen to you?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. But, I have to try. If nothing else, I can talk to Mrs. Kent about it — I believe I can trust her advice as well." He looked at Kara. "If you can, follow me once you're off work. We should both talk to Clark, find out what he's thinks after all this time." Kara nodded, slowly, and Harry turned and walked from the inn. Kara heard the familiar _whoosh_ as Harry took to the skies, flying at super-speed to Kansas.

=ooo=

When Kara arrived at the Kent farm, sometime later, it was the middle of the afternoon in Kansas. She walked into the kitchen, finding Harry and Martha Kent sitting at the kitchen table, each with a piece of apple pie in front of them. Martha's was barely touched, while Harry had eaten most of his.

"Am I barging in on something?" Kara asked. Both looked up at her, then shook their heads. Martha looked particularly pleased to see her again.

"Would you like a piece of pie, dear?" she asked, beginning to stand up, but Kara waved her back into her seat.

"I'll get it," she said, cutting herself a piece from the pie sitting on the counter and sitting down next to Harry. "Mmm," she said, biting into the piece. "This is wonderful, Mrs. Kent!"

"I told her the same thing," Harry said, smiling at Kara.

"I'm still blushing from all this praise," Martha said, a hand against her cheek.

Harry smiled again; there was a moment of silence. Into the silence Kara spoke tentatively. "Have you talked about why we're here?" she asked both of them.

Harry shook his head. "Clark hasn't been home for some time," he said, looking at Martha Kent. "Mrs. Kent doesn't know where he's at."

"I'm worried about him," Martha Kent said, seriously. "He has been acting strangely since he helped rescue you, Harry."

Harry nodded; so his mother had noticed that as well. "What did you want to talk to him about, Harry?" Martha asked. "It's been a long time since either of you were here as well — I've been worried about the both of you."

"We're sorry about that, Mrs. Kent," Harry said, speaking for both he and Kara. "Clark was being a bit unreasonable about Kara's Supergirl identity, and we decided that it would be best if we got away from his influence."

Martha looked unhappy at this, though she nodded in agreement. "I understand. I can't blame you for leaving. He has been cold toward me as well, these past few months. I don't know what's been going on with him."

"That makes three of us," Harry muttered. He looked at Martha for a long moment, then spoke again. "I wanted to discuss a problem I have with him — a problem regarding someone who wants me dead."

"Oh, dear," Martha said, a hand going to her mouth in surprise. "Why does this person want you dead, Harry?"

"He believes I pose a threat to his power," Harry replied.

"Do you?"  
"Yes," Harry said emphatically. "He has been killing other people since he became active again, almost two years ago. His followers have been killing people as well. If he were dead, his followers would not have the courage to act on their own. I have to decide if I can kill him."

"That's a hard decision to make," Martha Kent said, concern in her voice. "I don't know if I can tell you what to do, Harry."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Harry agreed. "I just wanted to know what you thought — after all, you and your husband raised Clark and gave him the values he has today."

"We taught him that life was sacred," Martha said. "Every life is worth saving, even if the person seems reprehensively and unfailingly evil. I believed Clark agreed with those ideas."

"Do you no longer believe that, Mrs. Kent?" Kara asked. She had caught the past tense in Martha's words.

"I don't know," Martha shook her head. "Clark has changed so much in the past few months. He no longer seems interested in resuming his Superman identity. From what you said," she looked at Kara. "He tried to persuade you to abandon your Supergirl identity."

"More like _ordered_ me," Kara clarified. "It was strange, especially after all the talks we had about me helping people — he was eager to teach me how to use my super-powers in that capacity."

"And he's told me he wants his super-powers back," Harry put in. "I'm not sure why it's an issue with him now, after all this time."

"Because it's a matter of what's correct for the natural order." Harry, Kara and Mrs. Kent all whirled around to see Clark standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "It's natural for me to have super-powers here on Earth," Clark continued. "Just as it's natural for you to have magical powers, Harry."

"Clark! All you all right, honey?" Martha asked, concern and consternation in her voice.

"I'm fine," Clark said, giving his mother a curt nod. He looked back at Harry. "Do you want to continue this conversation in my study?"

"Wherever you like," Harry said, standing. Kara, who seemed to understand she was not invited for now, remained seated, her hand on Martha's in a comforting gesture. Harry followed Clark into his study. The door swung shut behind him.

Harry glanced at the door, then back at Clark. "Well, have you figured out a way to get your powers back?" he asked, his tone sardonic.

Clark ignored Harry's tone. "I am very near," he replied. "Our powers will be restored to each of us — the residuum of my super-powers will return to my body from yours, and your magical powers will return from me to you."

"And then what?" Harry wanted to know. "Are you going to resume your career as Superman?"

"I don't think that's your concern," Clark shook his head, refusing to answer.

"It seems like it is," Harry argued. "If you're not going to be Superman, Kara and me can take up where you left off."

Clark almost smirked. "Do you think the two of you could replace _me_?"

Harry was perplexed. This didn't sound like Clark at all! "If we have to," he retorted. "And what have you done about being Sorcerer Supreme of Earth?" Harry went on. "I thought you were going to give that back to Dr. Strange."

"That's not your concern, either," Clark snapped. "For now, I remain the Sorcerer Supreme of both Earth and the Dark Dimension. When, and _if_, I decide to pass either of those titles on, I will do so."

Harry was silent for several seconds. "I did want to talk to you about something," he began. "It's about Voldemort —"

"Did Martha convince you not to take the life of this enemy of yours?" Clark interrupted.

"You heard that?" Harry was surprised Clark had overheard their conversation.

"She's being naïve," Clark said, coldly. "Enemies must be dealt with effectively. If that requires them to die, then they must die."

Harry's blood ran cold, hearing this. Clark would never have argued for killing anyone — he always looked for a way to stop people in a non-lethal manner, even if it put him at risk. He didn't know who Clark was anymore.

"I'll consider what you've said," Harry said, slowly, not wanting to disagree overtly. He had no idea what Clark would do if he didn't accept what he said. "Voldemort sent men to attack me earlier today, to kidnap me and bring me to him. I sent him a message that I'd be coming for him."

Clark nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Be sure to deal with him as he plans to deal with you," he said, in an authoritative tone. Your enemies deserve no mercy."

Harry looked back at the door to the study. "I guess Kara and I will be going now," he said. "I need to get back to Hogwarts."

But Clark shook his head. "I want to speak to her first," he said. Clark waved his hand and Kara suddenly appeared in the room.

Kara looked around, confused. "What — what happened? How did I get in here?"

"I Summoned you," Clark said, in a clipped tone. "It has come to my attention that you have been operating as Supergirl for the past few months, against my orders."

Kara frowned, crossing her arms in front of herself. "So what? I don't answer to you anymore, Kal. You can't tell me what to do."

Clark's expression was dangerous. "I have tried to protect you from yourself. You've been lucky so far — nobody has yet died as a result of your mistakes."

"_What_ mistakes?" Kara was outraged by this remark. "I've been _saving_ people! That's more than _you've_ been doing lately!"

"My actions are irrelevant," Clark said, dismissing her statement. "We are discussing _your_ actions. I will not stop you from continuing your actions as Supergirl, for now at least, but if you make one mistake, you will no longer be allowed to operate freely."

Kara looked mutinous, but just shrugged. "You're free to try and stop me, Kal," she said, stubbornly. "For now I'll do as I think is right."

Clark was silent for several moments. He then looked back to Harry. "I will summon you when I'm ready to transfer our powers. Until then, I suggest you stay away from the farm, and let Martha go about her business as usual." The door opened behind them. "You are excused."

Harry and Kara looked at one another, then filed silently from the room. Outside in the hallway, Kara turned to Harry, looking as if she would say something, but Harry shook his head. They returned to the kitchen, where Martha was washing the dishes they had used when eating pie. She turned anxiously at their entrance. "I wondered what happened to you, Kara!" she breathed. "You just _disappeared_."

"Kal-El wanted to talk to me," Kara said, in a peeved tone. "I guess he didn't have time to let me walk to his study."

"Did you talk to him about what you wanted to know?" Martha asked Harry.

Harry nodded, but didn't elaborate. "We're going to head back to Hogwarts," he said, instead. "Thanks for the pie, Mrs. Kent."

"You're welcome," Martha's tone was one of concern. "Come back anytime, both of you — it's so good to see you."

Harry nodded again, but didn't say anything about Clark's admonition to stay away from the Kent farm until summoned. He and Kara said their goodbyes, then he stepped outside and leapt into the sky, heading for England.

=ooo=

Voldemort finally dropped his wand to his side, ending the Cruciatus Curse on the lone Death Eater who'd returned from Hogsmeade. Luthor, who had witnessed the man's agony, managed to maintain his calm, detached demeanor. Inwardly he was both sickened and excited by the pain the man had endured — he'd had a taste of it himself not long ago.

Voldemort spoke to the man who lay gasping on the floor . "I trust you now understand the error of your ways, Yaxley. Now leave us."

Yaxley stood slowly, groveling to the tall, thin figure who had punished him so severely, and backed out of the room. Voldemort turned to Luthor.

"Can you explain why the kryptonite failed to incapacitate Harry Potter, Mr. Luthor?" he asked, in a voice that belied the rage he was obviously feeling.

"Oh Great One," Luthor said, bowing slightly. He did not want to admit he had no idea how Potter had escaped the kryptonite, but— "He may have found a way to use his magic to neutralize the kryptonite, somehow."

"That is hardly useful, Luthor," Voldemort sneered. "I require more substantive answers from you. Given your level of Muggle intelligence, I expect you to know how to stop these super-powered Muggles."

"Harry Potter is more than simply super-powered, Great One," Luthor pointed out, diffidently. "He also has magical ability like yours."

"Not like mine!" Voldemort snapped, and Luthor braced himself for another taste of the Cruicatus Curse. But the Dark Lord merely glowered at him for a long moment, then turned away. "You should remember, Luthor, that my power is second to no one."

_Except Dumbledore_, Luthor thought. He had heard from Dedalus Diggle that Dumbledore was supposed to be the only wizard Voldemort feared. But he remained silent on that point, asking only, "What do you wish me to do, Great One?"

Voldemort looked back at him, an expression of anger on his pale, gaunt facce. "Do? I expect you to find a way to bring Harry Potter to me. I expect you to destroy Superman before he decides to move against me. You are supposed to be knowledgeable about these creatures — I expect you to provide solutions, not question!"

"Yes, Great One," Luthor bowed once again — by now he'd learned not to make eye contact with Voldemort if he didn't want his thoughts known, and right now his only thought was to escape this madman, somehow. He didn't mind wanton killing so much as Voldemort's indifference whether he punished friend or foe. "My men will procure more kryptonite for you." He tasted an idea, then decided it was worth a shot. "If you like, Great One, I will personally bring this Harry Potter to you."

Voldemort's grin was terrible to behold. "Thinking of escape, Luthor?" Lex put on a look of innocence, carefully avoiding any guilty thoughts. "You would be wise to avoid such thoughts," the Dark Lord continued, his tone menacing.

"Yes, Great One," Luthor agreed. "I only wish to provide you what you desire — to have Harry Potter brought before you."

Voldemort appeared to weigh the pros and cons of allow Luthor the degree of freedom he was asking for. "Very well," he said at last. "I will allow you to bring Harry Potter to me. But," he added, "I will make sure that if you try to run, I will be able to find you." He waved his wand at Luthor, who felt a burning sensation across his skin.

"What — what did you do to me?" Luthor asked, forgetting for a moment to address Voldemort properly.

"I have placed a Mark spell on you," Voldemort answered. "No matter where you go, I will be able to find you." He pointed to the door. "Now go — you have three days to bring Harry Potter to me, or suffer my wrath."

Luthor bowed, but his mind was racing furiously. _Three days_! That was hardly enough time to get more kryptonite, locate Potter, and figure out the best way to capture him. He went to find Mulciber, to bring him to a phone so he could contact his men once again and set them to work finding more green K.

=ooo=

Back in Scotland, Harry and Kara were several miles above Hogwarts, held aloft by their flying power. It was the easiest way to have a "private" conversation.

"If you're not sure about this," Kara was saying, "perhaps you shouldn't do anything right now."

"Every day I delay gives Voldemort more time to terrorize the Wizarding and Muggle world," Harry said, though his tone was vacillating. "But I can't just kill him, even if I wanted to — there are Horcruxes out there that will keep him from permanently dying even if he is defeated. He's come back before — he can do it again."

"I'm still not clear on what a Horcrux is," Kara said.

"It's an object that's enchanted to hold a portion of a wizard's soul," Harry explained. The wizard extracts part of his soul and places it within the object, along with a Charm that allows the object to bind the soul to it and renders the object nearly indestructible. Only a few things, such as basilisk venom or Fiendfyre, can destroy one." At Kara's questioning look, he added, "I've learned a lot of magic in the past few years, as well as what I'm learning at Hogwarts now."

"Is there a way for you to defeat Voldemort permanently without killing him?" Kara asked.

Harry pondered that idea. "I can think of a few ways," he admitted. "But if he's alive, or has active Horcruxes left undestroyed, it may be possible for him to return. I don't want him to have another chance to kill people because I wasn't able to do what I'm supposed to."

"But you don't have to become a _murderer_, Harry!" Kara said, anguished by what Harry was implying. "No one would ask that of you, would they?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. A lot of people in the Wizarding world think I'm the only one who can get rid of Voldemort."

"Why?" Kara asked.

"Because of the prophecy about me and Voldemort," Harry replied. "Only two people, Professor Dumbledore and myself, have heard the entire prophecy. But a lot of people have heard rumors about it, and many of those people have been told that either I kill Voldemort or he kills me. There have been plenty of letters in the _Daily Prophet_ asking me to stop delaying and destroy Voldemort."

Harry looked at Kara, his expression serious. He had made up his mind. "I'm going to duel him, Kara — it's the only way to make everyone safe."

Kara wasn't happy with this decision, but— "Be careful, Harry," she said, and Harry nodded at her, smiling, before he zipped off toward Wiltshire.

Harry landed in front of the iron gates of Malfoy Manor, at the end of a country lane that appeared to be the only overland access to the estate. Harry could detect Muggle-repelling charms throughout the area; the Malfoys would not want non-magicals encroaching on their property. Voldemort was inside, Harry knew — he could sense the Dark Lord's presence. The reason he could sense Voldemort's presence was because he had a portion of the Dark Lord's soul within his own body. Harry had known this ever since he'd returned from the Dark Dimension. He'd been tempted to destroy the fragment, which would serve as well as a Horcrux in binging Voldemort to the physical word, keeping him from permanently dying. Harry finally realized, however, that he could use the fragment in order to hone in on Voldemort's location; it was how he knew that the Dark Lord was at Malfoy Man, in Wiltshire.

Harry stepped closer to the iron gates that guarded the entrance to the Malfoy estate. The iron of the gates began moving of its own accord, twisting and bending so that a grim-faced visage faced him. "State your business," the guardian of the gate demanded.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered. "I'm here to challenge Lord Voldemort to a duel."

The gate appeared to digest this statement, then said, "Enter," and the gates parted to allow Harry entry to the grounds. Harry strolled slowly up the walk to the doors of the manor, taking in the exquisitely manicured lawn, the albino peacocks that were calling to one another, and the manor itself, a large, multistoried mansion made of granite and other fine minerals. It made sense that Voldemort would surround himself, not with luxury but with the best magical protections he could—there were numerous wards and spells designed to alert those inside of both wizards and Muggles approaching. Harry wondered what those inside were thinking right now, as he approached. He expected they were questioning his sanity. Harry smiled; none of them could know of the magic now at his command, regardless of whether they knew about his super-abilities or not.

At the door, Harry checked the interior of the manor with his X-ray vision, but his vision could not penetrate the wards placed on the building. Harry cast a powerful detection spell, showing him the location of everyone within the manor. He found Voldemort on the first floor, seated before a long, polished table of finest oak, with numerous chairs along either side. He appeared to be alone at the moment. There were several other people in the manor as well; Harry identified Narcissa Malfoy and some Death Eaters who were part of Voldemort's inner circle: Mulciber, Yaxley, Rowle, a brother and sister, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, and Dolohov. Wormtail was in there as well, bustling about from room to room.

Also, surprisingly, Harry discovered that Lex Luthor was in a second floor room, sitting on his bed, apparently deep in concentration. The last Harry had heard, Luthor had been sentenced to Azkaban in December of last year. Voldemort must have broken Luthor out of prison — but why would he release a _Muggle_? Voldemort supposedly despised non-magicals and half-bloods, though ironically he was a half-blood himself: his father Tom Riddle had been a Muggle, Harry had learned, from memories in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He knocked on the manor door.

After nearly a minute, the door opened. Peter Pettigew stared at Harry in surprise and fear. "H-hello, Harry," he said, uncertainly. "Won't you p-please come in?"

"Thank you," Harry said, cordially, as if he were paying a visit to an old friend rather than his most implacable enemy. He stepped into entryway of the manor — a long hallway lined with glowing candles and portrait of Malfoy's ancestors. "I'd like to speak with Voldemort," he said.

Wormtail winced, but nodded and beckoned to Harry. "Follow me," he said, leading Harry to a staircase and down a short corridor to a closed door. "He is inside here," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. The man looked like he was struggling with some internal problem. Finally, he added, "Harry, the Dark Lord means to kill you."

"I know that," Harry replied, calmly. "But why did you tell me?"

"I owe you a life," Wormtail said, glancing furtively around as if he expected the Dark Lord to suddenly appear at his back. "I wanted to warn you —" he stopped talking suddenly, looking at his right hand in shock. The hand, a silver one supplied to him by Voldemort after he was restored to life, was moving of its own volition, reaching toward the Animagus's throat. "Aaack — run, Harry!" Pettigrew said, gasping as the hand began strangling him.

In response, Harry reached out, touching the silver hand with one of his fingers. The hand went limp, falling to Wormtail's side. A moment later, when he raised his arm to look at his hand, he found it was now restored to flesh and bone. "My hand…" Wormtail whispered, in shock. "You've returned my hand to me, Harry!"

"There was a curse on the silver hand," Harry said. "It activated when you showed overt disloyalty to Voldemort." So surprised was Wormtail by his new limb that he forgot to wince at the Dark Lord's name. "I've removed the silver hand and regenerated your own."

"I — I don't know what to say," Wormtail murmured. "Thank you, Harry!"

"If you want to thank me," Harry replied. "Then run — get out of Malfoy Manor before I confront Voldemort." Wormtail nodded and quickly moved away, disappearing down the staircase. Harry heard the front door open and close.

Stepping into the room, Harry regarded the pale, thin figure seated at the head of the table. Voldemort regard him as well, through red, slitted eyes. "So, Potter," he sneered, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "You have at last decided to embrace your final destiny."

"Yes, I have," Harry replied. "Though it may not be the one you're envisioning for me."

"You have no hope of defeating me, Potter," Voldemort said, rising to his feet. As he did, Harry noticed a glowing green pendant at his neck. Harry knew instinctively that it was kryptonite. Before he reacted, however, Voldemort Disapparated, appearing directly behind Harry. He felt the kryptonite radiation immediately begin to weaken him. But it couldn't weaken his magical ability!

Harry spun around as fast as he could, finding Voldemort's wand pointing at him as the Dark Lord began to utter the Killing Curse. Harry gestured, sending a Banishment Charm at Voldemort, who flew backwards, slamming into the far wall. He managed to stay on his feet as he hit the floor. Surprised for only a moment, Voldemort pointed his wand and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

But Harry's speed and strength had returned to him. The curse erupted from the tip of Voldemort's wand, moving in slow motion to his heightened perception. Harry moved to one side before the green bolt reached him, letting it pass harmlessly by. Before Voldemort could react, Harry pointed a finger at the black-robed figure, who froze in place.

Voldemort's expression was one of stunned surprise, even on his pale, snake-like features. His eyes followed Harry as the young Gryffindor approached him. "I guess you were wrong about defeating me, weren't you?" he said, quietly. "Now, I just have to decide what to do with you.

"Even if I kill you, your Horcruxes will keep you from dying permanently," Harry went on. At the stunned look in Voldemort's eyes, he nodded. "Oh yeah," he said. "I know about your Horcruxes. Dumbledore told me about them. He's been looking for them for some time. We've already destroyed two of them — your Tom Riddle diary and the ring.

Harry was slowly circling Voldemort's frozen form, speaking conversationally. "I have to tell you, though, I'm getting a bit bored with worrying about how many more Horcruxes you have out there. I think I have a better solution about what to do with you."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, sending out a silent communication. A few moments later there was a flash of light as Illyana Rasputin appeared next to him. "Hey, Harry," she said, then glanced at the tall, still form of the Dark Lord. "Is this old What's-His-Name?"

"Voldemort," Harry nodded. "What do you think of my idea?"

Illyana grinned. "I'm game. Not that where he's going is a very pleasant place, but from what I've heard and read about him over the past few years, it couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

She stepped between Harry and Voldemort, forming a triangle with the two men. "Here we go," she announced. There was a flash of light as a teleport disk appeared beneath them, and they disappeared, reappearing a moment later in Illyana's domain, Limbo.

Harry reached over, plucking Voldemort's wand from his still-stiff hand, then casually broke it in two and dropped the pieces on the ground. With another gesture he cancelled the spell holding Voldemort motionless. "Welcome to your new home, Tom," he smirked.

Voldemort was looking around, barely concealing the rage and frustration he felt. "What is this place, Potter? Where on Earth have you brought me?"

"Nowhere — on Earth," Harry clarified. "You're in Limbo, also known as Otherplace, a pocket dimension where the rules of time and space are extremely flexible."

"I'm its ruler," Illyana informed him. "So while you're here, you're subject to _my_ rules, Voldie."

"You cannot do this!" Voldemort declared. "I demand you return me to Earth immediately! His gaze attempted to penetrate into Harry's mind, forcing him to comply. It was a complete joke, from Harry's perspective.

"Don't waste your time trying to influence me," Harry sneered. "You're stuck here for the foreseeable future."

"And, I intend to have my subjects keep an eye on you," Illyana added. "In case you get any ideas about increasing your magical ability while you're here. S'ym!" she said suddenly, in a loud tone. A moment later a large, purplish demon appeared before her.

"You called S'ym, Mistress?" the large demon bowed his seven-foot frame to her in a gesture of subservience. "Command S'ym."

Illyana jerked a thumb at Riddle. "I've got a newbie here for you. Keep an eye on him, don't let him get too uppity."

S'ym regarded Voldemort with smoldering red eyes. "Can S'ym kill the newbie if he gets too uppity, Mistress?"

"No," Illyana told him. "But feel free to rough him up a bit if you like. Just don't kill him, _capiche_?"

"S'ym understands, Mistress." S'ym reached out, grabbing Voldemort by the arm. "Come along. S'ym will show you where you'll stay, newbie."

Voldemort looked back at Harry as S'ym dragged him away, his voice nearly pleading. "Potter! You can't do this to me! I'm the Dark Lord! I am invincible! Don't leave me here…" his voice faded as he and S'ym suddenly disappeared from view.

"Well, that's that," Harry said. "Thanks, Illyana — I was really trying to figure a way to get out of killing Voldemort when I remembered you and Limbo."

"Voldemort's nearly a demon himself," Illyana mused. "So he'll probably be right at home with the other ones here. I doubt if he's going to enjoy his status very much, though — he's pretty much the low man on the totem pole here."

"And let's hope he stays that way for a long time," Harry agreed.

"Ready to go back home?" Illyana asked, stepping next to him.

"Whenever you are," Harry nodded, and they both disappeared in the flash of a teleport disk.

=ooo=

"Well, that's a good solution, I have to say," Kara told Harry, back in Three Broomsticks later that evening. "But what about those — er, other things of his?"

"The Horcruxes?" Harry supplied, too softly for anyone except Kara to hear. "I suppose I'll have to find them someday and destroy them, so Voldemort won't be able to find a way back to Earth using them somehow."

"What are you going to do about his followers?" Kara wanted to know. "Do you think they'll keep hurting and killing people?"

"I doubt it," Harry shook his head. "Many of them renounced Voldemort when he was missing during most of the 80's and 90's. A few hardcore types might try to carry on in his name, but I think the Auror Department will be able to round them up rather quickly, without Voldemort protecting them."

"Good," Kara smiled. "I was kind of surprised when they came at you with kryptonite."

Harry suddenly snapped his fingers. "You know, I just remembered something," he said. "I saw Lex Luthor in Malfoy Manor when I went there to confront Voldemort! I was so fixated on dealing with Voldemort that I forgot about him until just now."

"Didn't you tell me he was sentenced to Azkaban last year?" Kara asked.

"Yeah, I read it in the _Daily Prophet_ just before the Christmas break," Harry replied. "The first Muggle to be incarcerated there, that's how dangerous the Wizengamot considered him. He's probably long gone from Malfoy Manor," Harry muttered unhappily, chagrinned that he'd left the criminal mastermind slip through his fingers.

"I'm sure he'll turn up again, Harry," Kara patted him consolingly on the arm. "You'll get him."

"I hope so," Harry agreed, emphatically. "I'm sure he's the reason Voldemort and his Death Eaters had those kryptonite pendants."

"Yeah, those were nasty," Kara nodded, shivering slightly as she remembered the sensation of kryptonite radiation weakening her. "I'm going to avoid that stuff as much as I —"

There was a sudden flash of light. Harry and Kara found themselves standing in Clark's study. Clark was standing there, in his Superman uniform, regarding them coldly. "What's up?" Harry demanded. He didn't much care that Clark had Summoned them to his presence without so much as a by-your-leave.

"I have completed my work on restoring our powers," Superman stated, without preamble. "You will now return them to me, Harry Potter."

**Author's Note: Once again, dear friends, it's time to review, please!**


	25. Crisis

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
****Crisis**

_Updated August 19, 2011_

"I wondered when you would get around to me," Harry folded his arms across his chest. "I've been thinking about your demand to have your powers back, and I'm not sure I'm ready to give them up."

Superman stepped forward, moving closer to him. Even though Harry was taller than he'd been when they first met, the Man of Steel stood 6-feet 4-inches, towering over Harry. "Are you going back on your promise, Potter?"

"To be honest," Harry retorted, "I'm not too sure I should have promised anything to you in the first place."

"What makes you say that?" Kara interjected.

Harry looked at her, but didn't respond. "It's irrelevant, anyway," Superman snapped. "They are _my_ powers, not yours, human."

"They've been _my_ powers for almost a year now," Harry snapped in reply. "And you haven't had a problem with that until after you got back from the Dark Dimension. I wonder why that is?" he asked, pointedly.

"You're imagining things," Superman said, dismissively. "I have long considered the problem of restoring my powers."

"You never mentioned anything like that to me," Kara objected. "You even told me months ago that you were _happy_ Harry had some of your powers, that he'd been very helpful to you in the past!"

"This is pointless," Superman said. He extended a hand toward Harry, who suddenly felt himself frozen in place. His hand next moved toward Kara, but she whisked away at super-speed. _Good girl_, Harry thought. He'd been afraid that Kara would try to stop Superman herself, whereas Harry was quite sure that her powers weren't up to stopping the Man of Steel's magical powers. He was now able to concentrate on freeing himself. He tried a couple of ward-breaking spells, neither of which worked on the Petrifaction Charm Superman had placed on him. He finally applied a powerful magical negation spell, which freed him just as Superman reached for him. Harry Teleported away, appearing at the edge of the Kent farm. He expected Superman to follow him, to continue the fight, but nothing happened for several seconds. A moment later Kara landed beside him.

"Where's he at?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"I'll check the house," Kara said, then breathed, "Oh, Rao — he's got Mrs. Kent!"

"Damn!" Harry gritted. "What's _wrong_ with him? He's using his _own mother_ against us!"

"That's not the Clark I know," Kara said, shaking her head.

"I think that's it," Harry muttered. He looked at Kara. "I think something happened to Clark while he was in the Dark Dimension, something that's making him act this way."

"That could be it," Kara agreed. "But what do we do about _that_?" She pointed to Mrs. Kent, who was being held by Superman, looking utterly terrified, as he stood watching them from their vantage point several hundred yards away, just as they were watching him.

"We rescue her," Harry replied, grimly. He glanced at Kara, who nodded, then Teleported into the Kent house, appearing before Superman and Mrs. Kent.

"You're back," Superman said, in a mocking tone. "I was beginning to think you didn't care what happened to my mother."

"More than _you_ care, apparently," Harry replied, in a sneering tone. "Who are you, really?" he wanted to know. "You're obviously not really the Man of Steel, if you're threatening Clark Kent's mother."

"Took you long enough to figure that out, boy," Superman replied, grinning maliciously. "You'll find out who I am soon enough, when my plans to take over this world come to fruition."

"You have to be from the Dark Dimension," Harry speculated. "Superman was there for some time, trying to save me. I think you somehow possessed him. You could be Clea, taking revenge on him for his defeat of you." Another idea suddenly occurred to Harry. "_Or _— you might be Dormammu. That would explain why you never moved against Clea — you were planning to possess Superman all along!"

Superman let go of Martha Kent's arm long enough to clap in derisive acknowledgement of Harry's deduction. "Correct, but for the wrong reason," he said. "I had actually possessed the demon S'ym, in demonic Limbo, with plans to take over that dimension from its Sorcerer Supreme, Illyana Rasputin, until Superman came along. I transferred to him, giving him enough power to defeat Clea and take over the Dark Dimension, which is rightfully mine, as is Earth!

"With the magical might I possess added to this puppet's body," Dormammu went on. "No one on Earth — not Doctor Strange, nor Doctor Fate, nor even _you_, Harry Potter, can stop me from imposing my will over this universe, beginning with this paltry planet."

"You wouldn't blame me if I at least tried?" Harry suggested.

"I welcome it," Dormammu said. His arm shot out at super-speed, casting a spell at Harry, who managed to deflect and dodge it at super-speed as well. The spell blasted a hole in the wall behind him. Harry threw a combination Impediment and Banishing Charm at Dormammu, who slid back several feet but was otherwise unharmed.

At that moment, however Kara, moving at super-speed, flew into the house and grabbed Martha Kent, then disappeared with her just as fast. Harry left the house at super-speed as well, rejoining Kara and Mrs. Kent several hundred yards away, where the three of them Teleported away.

As Harry, Kara and Mrs. Kent reappeared, hundreds of miles away, Harry quickly erected wards designed to hide them from magical detection. "Dormammu might break through these eventually, but I think he's too focused on his desire to take over Earth to worry about us for now."

"I wonder what he thinks of us rescuing Mrs. Kent," Kara mused.

Harry got a faraway look in his eyes for a moment. "He's not too happy," he said. He looked at Martha, who was still in shock from what she'd just gone through, then at Kara, who had a questioning look in her eyes. "I'll tell you later," he said, softly. "For now, I think we need to get Mrs. Kent to a safe place. And the safest place I know, other than Hogwarts itself, is the Burrow." At Kara's nod, Harry Teleported them all away, to Devon in England.

=ooo=

After introducing Mrs. Kent to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were only too happy to have "a friend of Harry's" stay at their home, Harry and Kara Teleported directly to the door outside Professor Dumbledore's study, bypassing the stone gargoyle and the moving staircase. Harry knocked anxiously on the door; they had to discuss the situation with the professor as soon as possible.

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice spoke, and Harry and Kara stepped inside. "Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, as soon as he saw him. "Welcome, and to your friend as well. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"A problem," Harry replied. "A _big_ one." Dumbledore's expression grew more and more serious as Harry described the situation that had developed over the past half-hour.

When Harry finished, Dumbledore nodded. "This is indeed serious," he agreed. From what I understand from Dr. Strange, Dormammu is extremely powerful and dangerous. If he has possessed the body of Superman, his power may well-nigh exceed that of all the wizards and sorcerers on Earth, including those of Drs. Strange and Fate."

"I've been thinking of bringing them in on this," Harry suggested. "We need all the help we can get, if we're going to stop Dormammu and save Superman."

"I will contact Phineas immediately," Dumbledore replied. "He will be able to send Dr. Strange and Chloe Sullivan to us, and may well journey here himself." The headmaster took out his wand and pointed it toward the window of his study. A bright light burst from the tip and shot off through the window. "I've dispatched my Patronus to Phineas; it should be there in seconds. Phineas will respond as quickly, using his own method of communication."

But over a minute passed, without result, before Dumbledore frowned and said, "It seems Phineas is otherwise engaged, or unable to reply at this time."

"Could something have happened to him?" Harry asked, anxiously. "Could Dormammu have gotten to him already?"

"I do not know," the headmaster replied, soberly. "He usually replies well before this —" A sudden flash of light distracted them as a familiar blue-cloaked figure appeared in Dumbledore's office.

"Professor Potter said you needed to speak to me," Dr. Strange said. "I came as quickly as I could. What is this about?"

"It concerns a being known to you as Dormammu," Dumbledore explained. "It appears that he possessed the body of Superman and was thus able to travel to Earth's dimension when Superman returned. Since Superman became Sorcerer Supreme of both Earth and the Dark Dimension by defeating Clea, he now wields almost irresistible power."

Dr. Strange looked very unsettled by this news. "This is very bad. I had wondered why he delayed to return the Eye and Orb of Agamotto to me — it seems we now know the answer to that question."

"What can we do to stop him?" Harry asked.

"Without more help, very little, I'm afraid," Strange conceded. "I need to contact Dr. Fate."

"Wasn't she with you, at the Academy?" Harry was surprised for a moment before the connection clicked for him. "Oh no — Chloe and Superman were seeing a lot of each other after we returned from the Dark Dimension. He may have done something to her…"

Strange closed his eyes, seeming to concentrate deeply for several seconds. "I do not find her anywhere on Earth," he said at last, in a grave tone. "That does not mean Fate is in Dormammu's hands, but it is unsettling."

There was a rustling at the window of Dumbledore's study. He gestured toward the window, and it swung open. An owl flew in, settling on the desk in front of the headmaster, offering the letter tied to its leg toward him. Dumbledore removed the letter and opened it, sparing a moment to place an owl treat in front of the owl, who hooted gratefully, swallowed the treat, and flew out the window.

"This is a letter from the Ministry," Dumbledore said after a short pause while he scanned the letter. "It is addressed to me, but I think all of you should hear it."

* * *

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_At 1302 Greenwich Mean Time today, the Ministry was visited by an image of the Muggle superhero known as Superman. The image informed us that the Ministry had 5 hours, until 1800 GMT, to cede all authority in Wizarding Britain to him._

_Failure to comply with this demand, we were told, would result in the destruction of the Ministry of Magic and everyone inside._

_Shortly after we were given this ultimatum, we received messages from the United States, Canada, and several South American Wizarding governments that they had been similarly threatened._

_We do not understand how or why this Muggle superhero is making such demands. The United States Wizarding government informed the U.S. Muggle President of the situation; they were advised to comply for now, to minimize bloodshed. The U.S. Wizarding President suspects duplicity between Superman and the Muggle government. We wish to know your views on this matter. Please reply with all haste._

_Rufus Scrimgeor_

_Minister of Magic, British goverment_

* * *

Kara was shaking her head in disbelief. "He must be going mad," she breathed.

"Dormammu is beginning his conquest of Earth," Dr. Strange declared. "He plans to take over the Wizarding governments of the world, making witches and wizards all over the world subject to him. From there, he will begin to make the non-magical governments bow to him as well."

"So how do we stop him?" Harry asked, tensely. "He had enough magical power to beat Clea, back in the Dark Dimension. I don't know if we can pull that much power together, with Dr. Fate missing and the Wizarding governments across the world in crisis."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Then, "Do you know of any weaknesses he has, Harry? I presume that you are aware of them, as much for your own sake as for his."

"Well, he was vulnerable to magic," Harry answered. "But that was before he got magical powers of his own, before Dormammu possessed him. He's also vulnerable to kryptonite, but his magic isn't affected, so he can use magic to neutralize the kryptonite before it completely disables him."

"Anything else you can think of?" Dumbledore asked, calmly.

Harry was scanning through his memories for the accumulated knowledge of all things Kryptonian that he'd learned from Clark over the past ten months. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, though, Kara beat him to it. "Red solar radiation," she said. "Kryptonians lose their super-powers under a red sun!"

Harry nodded in agreement, but still looked worried. "The only problem is, obviously, that we have a yellow sun, not a red one."

"What if he were to be transported to a system where the sun was red?" Dumbledore inquired. Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"You can't teleport someone that far!" he objected. "Even a Portkey probably wouldn't reach as far as the Earth's moon! The nearest red star is over four light-years away!"

"_Our_ magic is incapable of such a feat," Dumbledore agreed. "But you now have knowledge of magic far more sophisticated that wand-based wizardry, Harry. Surely there is a way to exploit one or more of Superman's weaknesses to defeat him."

Harry looked away, then back at Dumbledore. "I'll try to find it," he said, slowly. "But it would be best to have a couple of plans in place, just in case the first one doesn't work."

"An eminently practical suggestion, Harry," the headmaster agreed. "I suggest you begin working on one or more of those plans, while I contact Professor Potter and several other experts of magical use to help us in our quest to defeat this Dormammu."

Harry nodded and stepped close to Kara. The two of them disappeared, to brainstorm a strategy they could use against a possessed, super-powered Kryptonian with mad magical powers. "No pressure," Harry muttered, just as they vanished. Dumbledore smiled slightly in spite of himself and the graveness of the situation.

=ooo=

Aboard the _Alexandria_ once again, Lex Luthor leaned back in his easy chair, enjoying a snifter of brandy and a fine cigar. The yacht was making its way back to the United States after picking him up near the southwest coast of England. He'd made his way out of Wiltshire after fleeing the Malfoy estate, feeling lucky for once — Harry Potter hadn't caught him after removing Voldemort from the estate. Lex counted himself as fortunate since Potter must have realized who supplied Voldemort and his Death Eaters with kryptonite.

If their luck held out, the yacht would make it back to the United States in a week or so, and Lex's makeshift lab aboard the vessel was already processing the raw meteors to extract kryptonite from them, meteors that his crew had "found" over the course of the preceding weeks, while he was in the Dark Lord's clutches. At least he was no longer in Azkaban — Lex felt a shudder go through him, contemplating his chances of breaking out of the wizard's prison if Voldemort hadn't done it for him.

Luthor expected to process a couple of pounds of kryptonite from the meteor rocks. He was going to have to come up with a foolproof method of delivering it to his targets, Harry Potter and Superman. Potter, it seemed, could somehow neutralize the green K magically, and Luthor had to assume that Superman could do the same.

He poured himself another snifter of brandy, inhaling and enjoying the aroma of the fine liquor before taking a sip. Delicious! He filled his lungs with fine Cuban cigar smoke, letting it give him a mellow buzz — it had been months since he'd enjoyed a truly fine cigar. Most wizards either smoked pipes, using some _very_ strange tobacco blends, or didn't indulge at all. Apparently they hadn't discovered cigarettes in the Wizarding world, Luthor mused.

The door to his study opened and Stanford, the most scientifically gifted of his henchmen, stepped into the room. Luthor smiled at his use of the term "henchmen" — it seemed such a quaint but apt word, almost anachronistic; it was better suited to gangster movies or light comedies than an actual description of someone.

"Hi, boss," Stanford said as he stopped next to Luthor's easy chair. "How much longer do you want us to cook the meteor rocks? They've been in the kiln for almost a day now."

"That should be enough to melt off the meteor material," Luthor decided. "You've had them in there at 300 degrees, correct?"

Stanford looked nonplussed. "Um," he said, after a moment. "I thought you said 3000 degrees."

Luthor bolted upright. "_What_?" he shouted. "Of course I said three _hundred_, not three thousand!" He leaped out of his chair. "Come on!" He and Stanford raced down to the room they were using as a lab. Luthor had a high-temperature kiln installed, on that would let him melt materials in a controlled fashion. He glanced into the kiln, then pointed angrily to it. "Get it out of there, _now_!"

Stanford hurriedly donned protective goggles and gloves, then took a long tongs and slid the cup holding the meteor material out of the kiln. The rock had vaporized under the extreme heat, leaving only the kryptonite. But the kryptonite itself was _changed _— it was charred black instead of its familiar green color.

"What did you _do_?" Luthor growled at his protégé. Stanford shook his head helplessly. "Get the radiation meter," Luthor ordered, and the Indian henchman scrambled to comply, handing the probe to his boss.

Luthor passed the probe over the blackened kryptonite, expecting to find no useful radiation coming from it. But he was surprised to note that the radiation was as strong as usual, though it was giving off different types of radiation than before.

"Interesting," Luthor muttered. "We may have stumbled onto a new kind of kryptonite. The radiation signature is similar to, but different from, green kryptonite."

"Excellent!" Stanford was secretly pleased by the development — perhaps Lex wouldn't be so hard on him because of this. "How do you think it will affect Superman?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Luthor responded. "But I think we'll want to find out." He walked over to the intercom, punched the button for the bridge.

"Brutus here, boss," the lead henchman answered. "What's up?"

"Turn us around," Luthor commanded. "We're going back to England."

=ooo=

Rufus Scrimgeour was at his desk, silently fuming over the developments of the past several hours. They were minutes away from having to cede the authority of Wizarding Britain over to super-powered Muggle or risk potential destruction. The Muggle and Wizarding governments of the United States had been no help — they were urging Britain to capitulate for now, to avoid bloodshed. But there was no telling what this Superman would do once he held the reins of Wizarding government. And Dumbledore _still_ hadn't responded to him!

Scrimgeour stood suddenly, moving to the door of his office, where he snapped to his assistant. "Have Weasley and Shacklebolt come up here at once — I have some questions for them."

Within a minute both men entered the Minister's office. "You sent for us, Minister?" Shacklebolt asked, in his deep, slow voice. "What does this concern?"

"What do you think?" Scrimgeour snapped. "You _do_ recall we are in the middle of a crisis, do you not, Kingsley?"

"Of course, Minister," Kingsley responded, calmly. "I meant, specifically."

"_Specifically_, then — why hasn't Dumbledore responded to my owl? I sent it to him hours ago! We need to know what to do about this Superman business."

"I'm sure he's giving it due consideration, Minister," Arthur Weasley spoke up. "There are a lot of things to consider, I'm sure."

"Oh, I expect there _are_, Weasley," Scrimgeour sneered. "A super-powered Muggle _madman_ threatens all the western Wizarding governments — and I've heard that he's continued that trend with the mid-East and far Eastern governments as well, making his demands worldwide — with destruction unless they capitulate to his demands to hand over authority to him. He appears to have magical powers, something that was _not_ known about him when he was last seen on Earth, almost six years ago. No one knows where he is or what he's doing right now, and we have no way of contacting him before the time limit is up. Does that about cover things, in your estimation?"

"It seems to," Arthur admitted, not acknowledging the Minister's obvious sarcasm. "But I'm sure Dumbledore will respond before the time limit is up."

"You Order types all stick together, don't you?" Scrimgeour sneered once again. When Arthur and Kingsley both began to object, the Minister held up a hand for silence. "You needn't bother denying it, we've known of your loyalty to Dumbledore for some time, now. It's been convenient to keep both of you on here at the Ministry, to keep an eye on you.

"But soon," Scrimgeour pointed out, "it will be time for you to choose where your primary loyalties lie — with the Ministry or with Dumbledore and his Order. You cannot serve both equally."

"We have done so thus far," Kingsley objected, but Scrimgeour shook his red-maned head.

"Not by my estimation, Shacklebolt," he disagreed. "You have provided Ministry information to the Order in direct violation of confidentiality guidelines."

"Who accuses us of this?" Kingsley demanded.

"That's confidential," Scrimgeour grinned at the consternation on their faces. His mole was a veritable treasure-trove of information about the workings of the Order — he had no plans to give that up, now. It would probably be good for a bit of internal strife as Dumbledore and the others tried to sort out which of their members was informing on them. If they did figure it out — well, it was good while it lasted.

A small paper airplane suddenly flitted about Scrimgeour's head. Annoyed at the interruption, he snatched it out of the air, opened and read it. A smile came across his lips. "Well," he said, looking up at the two men standing before him. "Your leader is here in person," he said. He scrawled "Send him in" on a piece of parchment, then tapped it with his wand. The parchment folded itself into a paper airplane and flittered into the air, disappearing through a small hole near the ceiling. "He'll be in shortly," Scrimgeour continued, "and we'll get this business sorted out, once and for all."

Dumbledore entered a few moments later, nodding cordially to Scrimgeour as he noted the presence of Arthur and Kingsley. "Good afternoon, Minister. I trust you, Mr. Weasley and Auror Shacklebolt were having a pleasant conversation before I arrived."

"Quite an interesting one, Dumbledore," Scrimgeour replied, letting the sarcasm in his voice come through. "But that can wait for another time. What can you tell me about the demands this Superman is making?"

"Only a little," Dumbledore admitted. "He is not really Superman, but an extradimensional being called Dormammu, who has possessed Superman's body in order to enter our universe and bend it to his will."

"Extradimensional?" Scrimgeour looked perplexed. "I don't understand. Is our universe not the only one in existence?"

"There are many parallel universes, Minister," Dumbledore explained. "Normally, it requires powerful magic to breach the dimensional barriers to these universes, magic that is beyond anything the Ministry controls. There are beings, however, that can do so."

"Can you?" Scrimgeour asked him.

"No, I cannot," Dumbledore replied.

"Alright, then," Scrimgeour took a deep breath. "What does this mean, exactly, for the Ministry? This Superman — or Dormammu, whoever — has given us an ultimatum that is due within the hour, to cede authority from the Ministry to him or face whatever consequences he plans to visit upon us. I've already had word that the United States Wizarding government has decided to cede authority to him, and several Latin and South American countries are following suit. So what kind of plan do _we_ have?"

"I have been in touch with someone who is working on the problem, even as we speak," Dumbledore replied. He gestured toward the door. "He will be here within seconds, to brief you."

A moment later the door opened and Harry Potter stepped into the room. Scrimgeour took one look at him and scowled. "Potter? You again? I thought you had run away to America!"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Minister," Harry retorted, coldness in his voice for the Minister; Harry had decided that Scrimgeour was not much of an improvement over Fudge, who had serious biases against him, especially when he believed Harry and Dumbledore were colluding to seize the Ministry's power. "I've been back for several months now."

Scrimgeour rounded on Dumbledore. "You told me that Potter wasn't taking classes at Hogwarts! Granger and the two youngest Weasleys returned to classes in January, you told me, but not Potter!"

"That information is technically correct, Minister," Dumbledore replied, mildly. "Harry has not returned to classes — he has been involved in 'special studies' at Hogwarts, however."

"Still splitting hairs as finely as possible, eh?" Scrimgeour growled. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever get the whole truth from you, Dumbledore."

"As much of it as you need to know, Minister," the headmaster replied, with a twinkle in his eye. "Is that not how the Ministry prefers to parcel out its information?"

"That's different," Scrimgeour argued. "We're not —"

"Excuse me," Harry interjected. "Do you want to hear about Dormammu or do you want to argue petty Ministry politics?"

Scrimgeour frowned furiously at Harry, but after a moment he gestured impatiently for Harry to go ahead.

"We have several possible ways to weaken Superman's body, and therefore potentially render it useless to Dormammu. Kryptonite will weaken Superman's super-powers, but it will not affect his (or Dormammu's) magical abilities unless I'm able to surprise him and render him incapable of neutralizing the kryptonite."

"_You_, Potter?" Scrimgeour asked, skeptically. "Are you saying you have the power to stop this Dormammu?"

"Not necessarily," Harry shook his head. "His power probably exceeds my own — he was able to stop the Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension in her own domain, and claim the title for himself. We believe it is because he added Superman's magical abilities to his own when he possessed Superman."

Scrimgeour was looking blankly at him. "I don't understand any of that 'Dark Dimension' or 'Sorceress Supreme' stuff," he admitted. "Does this have to do with these other 'dimensions' Dumbledore mentioned?

"Yes," Harry nodded. "There is a Sorcerer Supreme in each universe or dimension. Until recently the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth was Dr. Stephen Strange, but he gave up his title to Clea in order for her to protect her own domain, the Dark Dimension, from Dormammu. But she wanted to take additional measures to protect herself, and she kidnapped me and took me to her domain, to train me in more powerful magic and have me help her protect it. I was there for two years of subjective time, even though only four or five days passed on Earth.

"When Superman and some other magical folks came to the Dark Dimension to rescue me, Superman had a run-in with a demon named S'ym, in Otherplace, who was possessed by Dormammu in preparation of taking it over from Magik, its Sorceress Supreme. He saw an opportunity to return to the Dark Dimension, however, and possessed Superman, adding his magical abilities to Superman's to make him more powerful than Clea."

"Okay, I understood about a tenth of what you just said," Scrimgeour said, plaintively. "But never mind any of that for now. Just tell me, _where_ did Superman get magical abilities in the first place? He was never listed as a magical adept in any of our intelligence about him."

"Well," Harry spoke reluctantly. "He actually got his magical ability from — me." There was no use keeping this from Scrimgeour, given what was at stake with the threat from Dormammu.

"_You_?" Scrimgeour's tone was incredulous. "How could _you_ have given him magical powers?"

"There was an accident," Harry explained. "I found his ship when he returned to Earth. He was weakened by a piece of kryptonite embedded in the hull of his ship. When I tried to move him clear of it, a bolt of lightning struck his ship, passing through him and me. When I woke up, I found that some of my magic had passed to him and that some of his super-powers had flowed into me."

"So you're saying _you_ have super-powers now?" Scrimgeour said, slowly. Harry nodded. "How strong are you, compared to him?"

"Superman has about three-fourths of his original strength," Harry replied. "I have about half. I know that doesn't add up, but the union of magic and super-powers seems to mutually amplify them. I don't have enough power, either way, to defeat him on my own, however."

"Well who _does_?" Scrimgeour practically shouted, his frustration coming to a peak.

"Unfortunately, we do not know," Dumbledore spoke up once again. "I have contacted Professor Phineas Potter —"

"What?" Scrimgeour looked outraged. "That old fraud? He doesn't even teach proper magic —"

"It's more powerful magic than you think," Harry broke in. "I know the Ministry doesn't approve of him, because he teaches wandless magic that's more powerful than anything the Ministry allows. But between the Academy and my time in the Dark Dimension, my magical ability has grown exponentially from what it was a year ago."

"And yet you're _still_ unable to stop this Dormammu," Scrimgeour retorted pointedly. "What good does that do us?"

"There are other things we can do to weaken him," Harry replied. He reached in a pocket, taking out a round mirror about four inches in diameter. "I've created this solar reflector," he said, handing it to Scrimgeour for inspection. It will absorb yellow sun radiation, converting it to red solar radiation and beaming it at whomever I point it at."

"And that means what, exactly," Scrimgeour asked. "What does red solar radiation do to Dormammu?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, "but it removes a Kryptonian's super-powers. I think, with those powers removed, it will weaken his magical ability some as well."

"How did you work that out?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"I tested it on myself," Harry replied. "Under the red solar radiation, I loar my super-powers and my magical ability dropped sharply. I was still capable of some wandless magic, but much of what I learned in the Dark Dimension and in reading the Academy and Hogwarts Libraries was no longer accessible to me, probably because my memory became normal again. It should affect Superman and Dormammu the same way, although Dormammu knows a lot of magic in his own right — he may not be weakened as much as I was."

"We have less than 30 minutes before this Dormammu is supposed to appear, to hear our decision," Scrimgeour said, looking at the clock on his desk. "So far, you've come up with nothing that's guaranteed to stop him. I don't want to cede authority over to him, but we may have no choice if we are to survive."

"I plan on a multi-pronged attack," Harry explained. "We'll hit him with the kryptonite — if he neutralizes it, we have the red solar mirror to use against him, and I will try to overcome him while he's dealing with that."

"And if you fail?" Scrimgeour suggested. "Then what?"

"Then, I'll have Magik teleport us to Limbo," Harry replied. "I think there I can manage to keep him there for as long as necessary."

"You can keep him there?" Dumbledore repeated. "Harry, you're not thinking of remaining there with him, are you?"

"It's the only way I can ensure he remains there, sir," Harry replied, diffidently. "It's a small price to pay, really."

"But what about — er, You-Know-Who?" Scrimgeour asked. "What will we do about him if you're no longer around?"

"Oh," Harry chuckled softly. "I suppose I forgot to mention—Voldemort's already taken care of. I left him in Limbo with a bunch of demons guarding him." Dumbledore, Kingsley, Arthur and Scrimgeour were all staring at him in frank surprise.

"You mean," Scrimgeour said slowly, unbelievingly, "you rid Britain of its most powerful Dark Wizard, and you _forgot to mention it to us_?"

"Sorry," Harry shrugged. "Shit happens, I guess."

At that moment another paper airplane fluttered by Scrimgeour's head. Snatching it from the air, he read it, then shook his head. "It certainly seems to," he agreed, looking up from the scrap of parchment. "Guess who's in the Atrium at this moment, waiting to talk to me?"

"Probably not Dormammu," Harry answered. "I doubt if he'd need to stop in the Atrium for permission."

"You're right," Scrimgeour said, handing the parchment to Dumbledore, who raised an eyebrow as he read it.

"Interesting," Dumbledore remarked softly. "Why would he be here, now?"

"Well, who is it?" Harry asked, deciding not to read the parchment magically.

"It is Lex Luthor," Dumbledore said. "He was sentenced to Azkaban some months ago, as you may recall, Harry, but was freed in January by Voldemort. We suspected he was at Malfoy Manor, but several searches turned up nothing. The remarkable thing about this breakout was that Voldemort actually freed a Muggle, though he detests them."

"Luthor's pretty smart, or so Superman told me," Harry said. "But it seems pretty stupid of him to show up here, now. Doesn't he think we'll just throw him back into Azkaban?"

Scrimgeour had sat down and taken out another scrap of parchment and was writing on it. "I'm having him sent up here," he said as he wrote. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

"Don't bother," Harry said. "I'll get him." He vanished, appearing moments later with Luthor in tow.

"Hi, everyone," Luthor said, looking around the room at the faces staring grimly at him. "How's everybody doing?"

"Cut the banter, Luthor," Harry snapped, pushing him into a nearby chair. "What are you here for?"

"Well," Luthor said, airily, "according to information I've received, you're in the middle of a crisis involving some powerful being wanting to take over the Wizarding communities across the globe."

"How could you know that?" Scrimgeour demanded. "No news agency, Muggle _or_ Wizarding, has been made privy to that information!"

"Well, I'm not a criminal genius for nothing," Luthor sneered. "My information-gathering network is _very_ sophisticated. Am I wrong?"

Scrimgeour took a deep breath before shaking his head. "So," he went on, after a moment. "What do you want?"

"I want to help," Luthor said, immediately. "After all, if the Wizarding communities of the world fall, the Muggle governments will certainly be targeted next. I doubt whether I could hide effectively under those conditions."

"How are you going to help?" Harry asked, exasperated. "Did you make some more kryptonite or something, to use against us?"

"It never hurts to be prepared," Luthor pointed out. "But actually, I have something new…" he reached into his suit pocket, removing a small lead box. "Inside this box is black kryptonite."

"_Black_ kryptonite?" Harry shook his head. "I never heard of such a substance."

"Well, as I said," Luthor smiled. "It's new. So new, in fact, that I'm not sure what it'll do to Superman — or _you_, for that matter."

"Then why bring it to us?" Scrimgeour wanted to know. "Surely you realize we consider you a wanted fugitive. What's to keep us from locking you up again?"

Luthor looked hurt. "I bring you a potentially useful weapon against this being — who, by the way, you seem to have no other defenses against — and you're unwilling to strike a deal with me?" He shook his head sadly. "Law enforcement just isn't what it once was."

"Cut the crap," Harry snapped. "If we find this black kryptonite useful, I'm sure the Ministry will strike a deal with you. But first we have to find out exactly what it does to a Kryptonian."

Luthor nodded. "I'm sure you'll be able to find a volunteer — say, that little lady who's been flying around England and Europe lately, the one calling herself 'Supergirl.'"

Harry smiled grimly. "Yeah, that's not going to happen," he said. "Besides, I have a better way to find out what your black kryptonite does, Luthor."

"Planning on testing it on yourself?" Luthor asked, blandly.

"No," Harry replied, scowling at Luthor. "I'm taking your sample of black K down to the Department of Mysteries, to perform some detection spells on it. They should tell me what this stuff will do when a Kryptonian is subjected to its radiation."

"We don't have much time," Scrimgeour pointed out, anxiously. "Less than a half-hour before Dormammu is supposed to show up."

"That should be more than enough time," Harry said, taking the lead box from Luthor. "Everything else is in place."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Potter," Scrimgeour said, a warning tone in his voice. "We can't afford for you to muck this up."

"Don't worry, Minister," Harry said, examining the lead box he'd just taken from Luthor. "My days of mucking things up are long gone." He disappeared.

"I hope he's right," Arthur said, nervously. "There's a lot riding on Harry seeing this through."

"I have every confidence he will succeed," Dumbledore said, gesturing with his right hand. Both Arthur and Kingsley noticed that the hand no longer looked burnt or shriveled, though they kept silent in front of Scrimgeour and Luthor. If Harry had actually healed the curse that was in Dumbledore's hand, what else was he capable of?

=ooo=

Kara landed soundlessly behind some bushes just beyond the perimeter of the Academy's front entrance. Since the American Wizarding government had surrender to Dormammu a short time ago, the former (and now current) ruler of the Dark Dimension had asserted his authority over American witches and wizards, making them subservient to his will. Kara wasn't sure whether that applied to the students at the Academy, which operated autonomously, without approval from the American Department of Magic, but it never hurt to be cautious. She was here to see Illyana, to ask her help once again.

Before heading to the front entrance, Kara pulled out the item Harry had loaned to her for making her way through the Academy to Illyana's room: his Cloak of Invisibility. It was a light, silvery cloak that rendered the wearer completely invisible. Kara was quite impressed with it, especially when she watched Harry demonstrate it for her, disappearing from view as he donned it. She pulled it out of a pouch sewn into the lining of her cape and threw it over herself, disappearing from view. Now, as long as she remained silent, she couldn't be detected unless someone cast a revealment spell directly at her. Animals seemed to be able to detect people under the Cloak as well, but not many students here kept pets, unlike at Hogwarts, where almost everyone seemed to have a pet of some kind.

Kara moved silently toward the front entrance. At the door she paused for a moment, trying to see inside with her X-ray vision. Nothing. As Harry had pointed out, the one disadvantage to using the Cloak was that it rendered the wearer transparent to all solar radiation, so she couldn't absorb energy from the sun while wearing it, nor could her vision powers be used while within the Cloak, even though normal eyesight was unaffected. But she could still hear all the noises within the Academy walls, so she listened carefully to see if anyone was in the foyer. It seemed quiet, so Kara opened the door quietly and slipped inside.

She moved carefully down the hallways of the school, avoiding students who were bustling between classes. Since the Academy was six hours behind Britain, it was just coming up on lunch here; Kara hoped she would find Illyana in her office or personal quarters. It would make things simpler than explaining her presence to students and staff.

She was almost to Kara's office when classes dismissed for lunch, and the corridors filled with students hurrying to eat. Kara quickly slid into Illyana's office, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Well, that was cute," Illyana's voice spoke before Kara had turned around. "Harry, is that you beneath your Cloak?"

Kara removed the hood; her head floated in the air, seemingly unconnected to her body. "No, it's me," she said. "I didn't want anyone knowing I was coming here to see you."

Illyana nodded grimly. "I can guess why, with all the crap that's going on in Washington. The idiots at the Department of Magic just handed the Wizarding government of America over to Dormammu."

"I know," Kara nodded. "But I wasn't sure how that affected you here at the Academy."

"So far we're immune to Dormammu's control," Illyana said. "But eventually he'll root out any dissenters to his power." She shook her head, an expression of anger on her face. "I'm still pissed at that creep for hiding out in Otherplace and planning to snatch it away from me. But it explains why S'ym was so 'uppity' when Supes and I were here — he was possessed by Dormammu. So what're you here for, girlfriend — need some help?"

"Harry needs your help again," Kara explained. "He plans on trying to stop Dormammu when he appears at the Ministry of Magic. If Harry can disorient him enough, he wants you to teleport him and Dormammu to Limbo, where he believes he can hold him there, keeping Earth safe."

Illyana digested that information, but looked unsettled. "How's Harry getting out once Dormamu's in Limbo? I don't think my magic is enough to hold him there, even though I wield a lot more power in Limbo than I do, say, here on Earth."

Kara's expression was anguished. "I think he plans on staying there himself, using his own magic to keep Dormammu from escaping. It's either that or destroy Dormammu's vessel and him along with it."

"Not good," Illyana shook her head. "He's inside Superman — nobody wants Supes dead. Too bad we couldn't get him to possess someone else once he's in Limbo — I wouldn't have too much problem getting rid of N'Astirh or even S'ym, if it would destroy Dormammu as well."

"I don't think Harry wants you to kill someone, just for that," Kara muttered, reluctantly. If truth be told, she wouldn't mind the death of some demon to get Harry back, but his code of honor, like Clark's (at least, the Clark she knew) prevented either of them from taking another's life.

"Well, I'm not letting Harry waste away in Limbo," Illyana retorted, stubbornly. "But we can burn that bridge when we get to it. What's the plan?"

"I'll explain on the way there," Kara answered. "Harry has several ideas on putting Dormammu off-balance. When he's sufficiently distracted, Harry will want you to teleport him and Dormammu into Limbo. Until then, we're going to keep you under wraps so Dormammu won't deduct what we're planning."

"What has Harry got that'll weaken Dormammu?" Illyana asked, as she stepped up beside Kara. "He's a pretty powerful sorcerer — and he's not even human, he's some kind of energy being, able to take over the bodies of corporeal beings."

"While he's inside Superman's body, he's at least somewhat susceptible to the same things Superman is," Kara explained. "Kryptonite, red solar radiation, and even magic, to a lesser extent now that he's magical himself."

"Harry's going to have to throw a lot of crap at him at once, and hope some of it sticks," Illyana theorized. "That's a pretty tall order, even for Harry." She shrugged. "But what the hell, I'm game. I still owe the bastard for what he did in Limbo. So where are we headed — I'll drive."

Kara looked confused for a moment until she sorted out the idiom. "Oh — the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic," she said, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over Illyana's shoulders. "We're to keep out of sight until Harry contacts us with instructions." She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "Dormammu said he'd appear at the Ministry exactly five hours after he sent his ultimatum — it's almost six o'clock there now. He's supposed to appear at 6:02 GMT."

"We'd better be on our way, then," Illyana smiled grimly. She and Kara adjusted the Invisibility Cloak so it covered both of them, then Illyana activated one of her teleport discs. She and Kara disappeared from her office.

=ooo=

In the Minister of Magic's office, Rufus Scrimgeour sat at his desk, his stony exterior masking a feeling of apprehension. Would Potter's plan work? Scrimgeour was not even clear on what the young Gryffindor planned to do, much less how it would work out. Standing beside Scrimgeour was Kingsley Shacklebolt, secretary to the Muggle Prime Minister, who was here in order to relay Scrimgeour's decision to the Muggle government.

Also, incongruously, off to one side was seated Lex Luthor, the Muggle criminal genius who'd had several run-ins with Superman over the past decade. He was seated casually on the leather divan, smiling insufferably to himself. Scrimgeour _really_ wished he could clap Luthor back in Azkaban when this ordeal was over — assuming there was a Wizarding government after smoke cleared. Scrimgeour was coming to believe there wouldn't be.

"What time is it?" Luthor asked, his tone light.

Scrimgeour glared at him, but answered, "It's six o'clock straight up. Now be quiet, Luthor — I'm not even sure why you're _here_, much less what you've got to do with this decision."

Luthor shrugged. "Just here to see history in the making, Minister."

Scrimgeour turned to Kingsley. "Where's Potter?" he demanded, in a curt tone. "Isn't he supposed to be here when this Dormammu arrives?"

"Harry went down to the Atrium, Minister," Kingsley said, softly, presumably so Luthor couldn't hear. "He should be back shortly, unless he was held up for some reason."

Scrimgeour pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "That kid is never where he's supposed to be," he growled. "He runs off to America. He comes running back, hiding at Hogwarts like it's some kind of refuge for him. And now he's pulled this mess down on our heads —"

Scrimgeour stopped talking, and everyone in the room stared as a pinpoint of light suddenly appeared in the Minister's office. Brighter and brighter it grew, expanding until the glare was nearly intolerable, then suddenly forming itself into a human shape and coalescing into the figure of Superman.

Luthor studied the Man of Steel with an appraising eye. His face was harder than he remembered it — it was almost stony, as the Kryptonian gazed at the three men in the room with him. He also noticed that Superman seemed much more muscular than when they last met, in Superman's Fortress of Solitude. He also seemed to fairly radiate power—no doubt the result of his takeover of the United States Wizarding community as well as numerous Latin and South American communities. How much more powerful would he become if he took over Britain as well?

"It is time," Superman intoned, in a voice much colder than his normal speech. "Minister, will you willingly grant me authority over the wizarding subjects of Britain? Or must I take them by force?"

Scrimgeour was silent for a long moment. He glanced at Kingsley, who nodded fractionally, then reached in his desk drawer, removing a piece of parchment with the official Ministry seal upon it. "No," he said, with resignation in his voice. "I will sign over my authority to you — but only to avoid needless bloodshed." He wrote on the parchment,

* * *

_This 14th day of April, 1997, I, Rufus Scrimgeour hereby cedes, abdicates, and grants all power he holds as Minister of Magic for Britain to the being known as Dormammu._

_(signed)_

_Rufus Scrimgeour_

* * *

Scrimgeour handed the parchment to Kingsley, who read it, then stepped around the desk to hand it to Dormammu. Before he could approach, however, Dormammu held out a hand, and the parchment was snatched from Kingsley's grip, flying into the Man of Steel's grasp. He glanced over it, nodding as he read, then smiled grimly at the two Ministry officials.

"You will find, gentlemen, that in the long run this will be much more beneficial to your people than resistance or rebellion. I can be quite reasonable when I am dealt with in good faith —" His eyes fell on Luthor once again; Dormammu finally seemed to realize just who he was.

"Lex Luthor," he said, recognizing him. "You were the sworn enemy of Superman. You were thrown into Azkaban Prison for crimes against the British state and its citizens. Interesting that you should be here at this time."

"Well," Luthor smiled, with an airy toss of one hand. "I just wanted to watch history in the making. Again."

"No other motive?" Dormammu inquired, skeptically. He pointed a finger at Luthor, who rose into the air, struggling against the invisible forces holding him against his will. "I think there must be some other reason you are here. Explain yourself to me!" A flash of light exploded around Luthor's head.

Luthor shook his head, trying to resist, but after a moment he stopped struggling. "This…is a…trick," he said, slowly, as if in a trance. "They do… not plan to…transfer authority to you…but to trap you…"

Dormammu laughed. "It is too late for that!" He sneered. "They have already transferred authority to me!" His expression suddenly changed. "Unless…" he glanced at the parchment Scrimgeour had written. "Something is wrong — I do not feel the magical power of Wizarding Britain flowing through me! Yet I have the magical document assigning it to me from the Minister of Magic!"

Luthor shook his head painfully. "Scrimgeour is…_not_…the current Minister of Magic — the Wizengamot…elected a new Minister of Magic…a few minutes before…you arrived."

"Trickery!" Dormammu raged. He turned to Scrimgeour, releasing Luthor, who fell onto the divan. "Speak!" he demanded, as Scrimgeour rose painfully into the air. "Who is your Minister of Magic now!"

Scrimgeour shook his head weakly. "I — I do not know," he gasped. "I was not made privy to the Wizengamot's decision."

"Tell me or suffer a most painful death, wizard," Dormammu warned. He began applying pressure around Scrimgeour's neck, cutting off his air supply. When Kingsley reached to help him, Dormammu froze him solid. Both men began gasping for breath.

Luthor suddenly stepped forward. "Stop!" he said. "You don't need to kill them," he said, then steeled himself and added, "_I_ was made Minister of Magic."

Dormammu released both Scrimgeour and Kingsley, staring at Luthor in frank surprise. "_You_, a non-magical, elected to the highest office in Wizarding Britain? It sounds ludicrous, yet I see why they would choose you. I would never have suspected you had been made Minister.

"Yet it seems pointless," Dormammu went on. "You had no leverage to use against me, human. What did you hope to gain?"

Luthor was straightening up his clothes, "Time," he admitted. "We were trying to buy time, hoping to find a way to stop you. Unfortunately, none of your vulnerabilities could be adequately exploited enough to stop you." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "I have the official transfer of authority document here, in case we were unsuccessful in our attempt to stop you. It appears we failed."

Dormammu held out his hand, and the parchment flew from Luthor's grip to him. Before he read it, however, he passed a hand over it, saying, "_T_

_his_ time, I will be sure this is the genuine document — _what_?"

The document had transformed in his hand, into a lump of glowing black metallic crystal. Dormammu released the lump, but it stuck to his hand. He began to blur, his features becoming indistinct, as his body started glowing. "What is this magic?" he demanded, clawing at the lump of rock in his hand, unable to release it, until it finally fell away of its own accord.

Dormammu screamed as his body seemed to expand, then split and coalesce into the two distinct beings — one, the Man of Steel, looking more normal than when he first entered the room; and two, a large, muscular being with whose face was weirdly amorphous, glowing red with shining yellow eyes. Both of them reeled unsteadily, weakened by the effects of the black kryptonite on them.

Dormammu recovered first, and stretched out a glowing red hand toward the black kryptonite, now on the floor before him, but Luthor pointed at it first and the rock flew into his hand. At the same moment, from behind Kingsley, Kara suddenly appeared from beneath the Invisibility Cloak, pointing the solar radiation mirror at Superman, who fell over, robbed of his super-powers. Dormammu growled in frustration and rage, then thrust a hand toward Luthor, who was suddenly pulled toward him. But before he could wrest the chunk of black K from Luthor's grip, there was a flash of light around them as Illyana appeared on a stepping disc, and the three of them disappeared.

Scrimgeour, rubbing his sore neck, looked at Kingsley. "I can't believe it," he said. "Potter's plan actually worked."

"You give him too little credit, Minister," Kingsley said in his slow, deep voice, almost chidingly. "Harry has come quite a long way in the past year."

Kara had put away the solar mirror and was helping her cousin to his feet. Superman looked disoriented and confused. "What happened to me?" he asked her. "The last thing I remember was having a talk with some demon in Magik's Limbo dimension."

"There's quite a bit to fill you in on, Kal," she replied. "And it's not over yet — I hope they can deal with Dormammu in Limbo."

"Dormammu?" Superman repeated. "He was the being Harry was supposed to help Clea fight in the Dark Dimension, wasn't he? How did he get here?"

"That's a long story," Kara said. She nodded toward Scrimgeour and Kingsley in gratitude, then walked Superman out of the Minister's office.

=ooo=

Three figures materialized in the bleak starless twilight of Limbo: Illyana, the domain's Sorceress Supreme, the figure of Lex Luthor, and the amorphous figure of Dormammu, who was already beginning to revert to his energy form.

"Foolish humans!" Dormammu screamed. "Did you forget I thrived here, possessing demons and bending them to my will! I will do so again — you will see me as ruler of this pitiful little domain before so much as a day passes on Earth!"

"Not likely," Luthor said, tossing the black kryptonite to Illyana who caught it and conjured a lead box around it. "The best you could do here was possess someone who was leaving this domain — you don't have the power here to free yourself from Limbo, much less rule it."

"Right," Illyana concurred. "Dormie, you don't have a snowball's chance in Hell — or Limbo, for that matter, of getting out of here. We thought Harry was going to have to hold you here, but I realized that you _couldn't_ leave this place without help. It would be interesting to know just how you ended up here in the first place."

Dormammu was forcing himself to maintain corporeal integrity. "You will never keep me here," he rasped. "I _will_ escape!"

Luthor smirked. "You shouldn't tell lies," he sneered. "One of my teachers told me that. Too bad she was such a liar herself." He passed a hand across his face, cancelling the effects of the Polyjuice Potion he'd drunk almost 30 minutes earlier. Within moments, he'd returned to his original form of Harry Potter.

Dormammu was nearly a wisp of vapor now, unable to hold his form. "I guess you're going to be here longer than you thought, Dormie," Illyana said, teasingly. "Don't worry — you'll be in good company. I've got some interesting characters here to keep you company."

Hollow laughter rang out all around them. Illyana frowned. "That's a little creepy," she muttered to Harry. "This Dormammu doesn't know when to quit, does he?"

"Apparently not," Harry said. "Well, I'm glad that's the end of him, anyway —" Harry's words cut off as the vaporous form of Dormammu suddenly converged on him, fusing his energy self with Harry's body.

Caught off-guard, Harry's mind was assaulted from all sides by Dormammu's energy. It was like the Imperius Curse, but magnified a thousand times. Harry fell to the ground, holding his head and writhing as he engaged in mental contact with the renegade Faltine. Dormammu's power inside him was overwhelming — Harry now understood that a corporeal body gave Dormammu much more power here in Limbo than in his energy form alone. Harry could resist the Imperius Curse — in his present magical state, it was simplicity itself — but Dormammu's mental control was much, much stronger. Harry felt himself slipping further and further under the Faltine's control…

Illyana threw the black kryptonite at Harry, but one of his hands gestured and the lump of crystalline metal vanished. "That won't work anymore," Dormammu laughed mockingly. "I now control Potter — soon, I will use his considerable magical prowess to take control of Limbo from you!"

"In a pig's eye," Illyana retorted. She moved toward Harry's writhing figure, one arm held out to her side. As she approached, a bright light shone from her palm, extending itself and materializing as a gleaming silver sword. She slashed the sword through Harry's body — as it struck, there was a blinding flash of golden light from Harry's body and Dormammu's form drew away, shrieking in pain.

"Bitch!" Dormammu shouted at Illyana, who pointed the sword — her Soulsword — at him, keeping the Faltine from approaching her or Harry again.

"Yeah, sticks and stones, asshole." Illyana waved the sword menacingly at the now-solid Dormammu, who had recovered a measure of corporeal integrity in possessing Harry.

Harry himself was examining his body for cuts from the sword. "That's a hell of a sword you've got there," he told Illyana. "What did you do?"

"This is my Soulsword," Illyana explained, still pointing it at the fuming Dormammu. "I created it a long time ago, when I first lived in Limbo; it was made from eldritch energies created within my own body. With it I can disrupt spells and extradimensional beings; and, as you saw, I can use it to split possessed beings into their individual parts, as with you and Dormammu." She waggled the tip at Dormammu's fiery red face. "So don't get any ideas about trying to possess me or Harry again — try it, and I won't just separate you from whoever you're possessing, I'll cut you up into pieces."

Dormammu moved away from Harry and Illyana. "You haven't seen the last of me," he warned them, as he faded into the foggy atmosphere of Limbo.

The Soulsword vanished. "I wouldn't bet on that," Illyana muttered, then turned to Harry. "Jeez, what a pain in the ass that guy was!"

"I'm not too sure about letting him roam free in Limbo," Harry said, sounding worried.

"I've got him under control," Illyana said confidently. "I've already given the other demons orders to keep him in line. And they've got permission to torture anyone possessed by Dormammu mercilessly until he leaves the body."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Harry asked.

Illyana appeared to mull that over for a few seconds. "Not really," she said at last.

Harry shrugged. "Works for me, then."

"I guess we should get back," Illyana suggested. "We should see how Supes is doing. And, there's the matter of the artifacts of Agamotto, which Dormammu was holding onto to boost his power in Earth's dimension."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We also have to let the Wizarding governments that surrendered to Dormammu know that they are no longer subject to his dominion over them."

"Busy day today," Illyana chuckled. "And I've still got homework to grade back at the Academy!"

With a flash of light, Harry and Illyana both disappeared.

**A/N: I appreciate all reviews, both laudatory and critical.**


	26. Epilogue

**A/N: This is the wrap-up, the final chapter of the story. I suppose I might have kept going on chapter after chapter, but almost 250,000 words into this, it seems like the time to stop. I hope you enjoyed the ride. - John**

**Harry Potter Returns  
**A Harry Potter/_Superman Returns_ Crossover

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
**_**Epilogue**_

_Updated September 2, 2011_

The day after the confrontation with Dormammu, Harry and Kara arrived at Dumbledore's office to fill him in on the details. "I wish I'd known about Illyana's Soulsword before the Ministry made a deal with Luthor to use black kryptonite against Superman," he said, chagrinned by this small wrinkle to the jubilation inspired by the defeat of the Dread One, as Dormammu was called by the inhabitants of the Dark Dimension.

"It seems to have all worked out, however," Dumbledore said, mildly. "Dormammu has been dispatched, along with Voldemort, to a place where they can no longer harm anyone except themselves. And you, Harry —"

"I'm the happiest I've been in a long time," Harry interjected, smiling at Kara, who smiled at him in return.

"We're both happy," Kara said to Dumbledore. "I have my cousin back; he's at home with his family — he told me that you knew his true identity, Professor," she added. "I'm very grateful that you kept that information from the Ministry, along with my identity of Linda Lee."

"What the Ministry doesn't know won't hurt them," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with happiness for Harry and his new-found friend.

Harry snorted. "There's a _lot_ that they don't know. I have a feeling that if Scrimgeour knew the real extent of my magical abilities, his head would explode."

"Well, we can't have _that_, Harry," Dumbledore said, with mock seriousness. "After all, I'm afraid that the Ministry would try to recruit me as his replacement, and I have no desire to enter politics at my age."

Harry smiled, and stole a glance at Dumbledore's right hand. Now completely healed, the headmaster had a new lease on life due to Harry's intervention with the curse that had been slowly killing him. "Neither do I, sir," he said with a grin.

Dumbledore looked at him curiously. "Professor McGonagall told me that you had some ambition of becoming an Auror after you left school. Does that ambition still hold true?"

Harry sat back, then glanced at Kara, who looked back at him inquiringly. "I don't know," he said honestly, after a moment. "I thought, once I'd gained super-powers from Clark, that I could become sort of a Super-Auror, doing in Britain what he does in America.

"But," he continued. "With everything I've learned in the past year, and all the time I spent in the Dark Dimension with Clea learning advanced magic, I think my role as a — well, a 'superhero' might be more of a hindrance to Wizarding Britain than a help."

"In what way?" Dumbledore inquired, interested.

"Well, Clark, and now Kara, both handle emergencies that are beyond what most human agencies can do for the people of Earth," Harry explained. "They do get some requests for help from individuals, but I think most people realize that Superman and Supergirl are helping the world at large — they are rarely asked for personal favors, and Kara tells me that people who tend to ask for such generally have ulterior motives.

"In contrast, Wizarding Britain thrives on personal interactions between all of its citizens. Most witches and wizards know everyone else in their community, or at least know a select group whose connections spread outward, reaching across the community. Like the Order, for example. I'm afraid that if I were to become —" Harry shrugged, "— something like 'Super-Harry' or 'Captain Sorcerer,' that I'd be caught up in the minutiae of personal requests."

"I don't think it would be quite that bad, Harry," Kara said, sounding a bit chiding. "You could do a lot of good as 'Super-Harry,'" she added, teasingly.

"Probably," Harry admitted, amused by her teasing. "Maybe I should talk it over with Ron and Hermione," he suggested. Kara nodded in agreement, and Harry stood. "If it's okay I think I'll go talk to them now," he said, and at Kara's smile of agreement he vanished from Dumbledore's office.

Kara stood, looking at the headmaster. "If it's alright, Professor, I'll leave to go back home to Kansas — tell Harry I'll talk with him soon."

Before she could leave, however, Dumbledore put up a finger, forestalling her exit. "Before you go, Miss Zor-El —" Kara smiled at Dumbledore's use of her father's family name "— I have a matter of some import to discuss with you, concerning Harry's future."

Kara sat down, confused and a little uncertain. "Harry's future?" she repeated. "I don't really know what he's planning," she said, "but I know he wants to do something to help the world at large."

"I'm quite sure he does," Dumbledore nodded. "But I believe he has not yet considered the full implications of his defeat of Dormammu. I have been in discussion with several individuals whose lives will be affected by his choices, and I believe your life will be affected as well.

"Will you hear me out," Dumbledore finished, "and help decide what you should do help Harry?"

Kara nodded. "Any way I can, Professor."

=ooo=

Harry appeared in the Gryffindor common room, arriving so innocuously that no one even noticed him for several seconds, until he had strode up to the table where Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Dean Thomas were seated. "Hey, Harry! All right, there?" Dean said, standing and offering his hand. Harry shook it, then sat down in a chair between Dean and Ginny.

"All right, Dean," Harry nodded. It was only a small lie, he rationalized. The question wasn't meant to elicit a truthful reply anyway; it was merely a greeting. "Are things all right for you?"

"Never better," Dean said, with a grin, and Harry saw his eyes flick towards Ginny for a moment. Harry caught a vibe that told him there was something going on between them now, that Ginny had abandoned her quest to steal him back from Kara. Harry hid a smile of relief; it was high time Ginny realized that he and she were never going to be together, that there was just no — spark — between them, the way he now felt about Kara.

"Glad to hear it," Harry said, glancing toward Ginny, who gave him a small, wistful smile in return.

"Gin," Dean said, looking at her. "D'you want to take a walk, let Harry get caught up with his friends here?" Ginny stared at Harry for a moment, but then smiled and nodded. They both got to their feet and left.

There must've been a look on Harry's face he wasn't conscious of, because as soon as Ginny and Dean left, Ron leaned forward, asking, "So, _really_ all right there, Harry? It seems like you have something on your mind."

Harry waved a hand in an attempt to dismiss the idea. "I'm just — glad that everything's back to normal."

"Oh, bollocks," Hermione said, and both Harry and Ron gaped at her in surprise.

"Language, Hermione!" Ron said reprovingly, though secretly he was amused by her use of vulgarity.

"Oh, you know what I mean," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. "We're a _long_ way from being normal, aren't we?" She stared expectantly at Harry, waiting for him to agree.

Harry smiled. "I suppose that's true, Hermione," he said. With a mental command he erected a barrier about the three of them, one that would keep their conversation from being overheard by Extendable Ears or other bugging devices. "I still have super-powers and I'm still the most powerful wizard on Earth, even figuring in Dr. Strange and Dr. Fate, among others."

"I'm glad Superman was able to find Dr. Fate," Ron spoke up. Harry had told them last night that the Man of Steel had recalled where Dormammu had placed her while Superman was under the Dread One's control. She had been placed in a pocket dimension adjoining Earth, in suspended animation, so she could not use her mystic energies to help Harry and Dr. Strange stop Dormammu.

"I am, too," Harry agreed. "I hope they'll be able to work things out." Chloe had been somewhat traumatized by the experience; she acted distant to Clark now, protecting her boundaries. It would take some time before they reconciled, if at all, though Chloe understood that Superman was under the control of Dormammu at the time he trapped her.

"So what about _you_, mate?" Ron asked, getting to the reason for asking his original question. "What're you thinking about?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno, really. I can't stick around Hogwarts anymore — I've already learned all the magic there is to be had here. I think I need to do something more substantial than spend my time reading about magic. But I don't really want to tag along after Supergirl —"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "Why not?" She appeared a bit irritated by Harry's remark. "What's wrong with what Supergirl's doing?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Harry said, defensively. "I just mean — well, I don't think the superhero thing is for me, you know?"

Ron looked at Hermione, rolled his eyes, then looked back at Harry. "Come on, mate — you've been acting the hero practically since you got off the train in first year. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in your first year, the first student who's done that in a century. And you've beaten You-Know-Who at every turn, too. I mean, let's face it," he concluded. "You're pretty bleedin' special!"

Harry might have blushed; he knew Ron was being sincere. "Thanks, mate," he said, gratified by Ron's admiration. "I appreciate the sentiment. I just hope I can do something that I'll enjoy doing, that can help as many people as possible."

A brilliant light suddenly floated down from the ceiling of the common room, landing on the table in front of the three Gryffindors. As Harry's eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that it was a silvery-white phoenix — a Patronus. "Please come to my office," it said, in Dumbledore's voice. "All three of you." The phoenix faded into nothingness.

"Wonder what that's about," Harry said, standing. "I just left his office before I came down here to talk to you."

The three of them left the common room, walking along several seventh-floor corridors until they came upon the one with the gargoyle guarding a section of wall, where Harry know the entrance to Dumbledore's office was hidden. The trio rode the moving staircase up, standing before the large oaken doors for a moment before knocking. "Come in, Harry," Dumbledore's voice spoke, and they stepped inside.

In the office, Harry was interested to note that several people were waiting for them: Remus was there, smiling but tired, dressed in worn, shabby robes that had become his trademark look over the past few years; from the Academy were Professor Potter, Dr. Strange, Illyana and Chloe Sullivan, who smiled at him even as she avoided looking toward Clark, who was there in his Superman uniform. Next to him was Kara, looking more solemn than he expected in her own costume. "Welcome to the three of you," Dumbledore said, gesturing for them to be seated along with the others. Harry, Ron and Hermione took a seat next to each other on the divan, looking at the others expectantly.

"Harry, I wish to discuss an issue with you which seems to have escaped your attention," Dumbledore began, without preamble.

"It hasn't really, sir," Harry answered. "I just wasn't sure what I was going to do about it." They were speaking, of course, of the titles of Sorcerer Supreme of Earth and the Dark Dimension. Dormammu, in defeating Clea while in Superman's body, had wrested both titles away from her, and Harry in defeating Dormammu, had done the same with him.

"What would you _like_ to do?" Dumbledore asked, gently.

"Well," Harry considered a moment. "Honestly, I thought about becoming Sorcerer Supreme of Earth — I mean, Earth has Superman and Supergirl to protect it, and Doctor Fate —" he nodded toward Chloe "—can handle most magical issues.

"But," he went on. "I know Dr. Strange was Sorcerer Supreme of Earth before I was, and while I have the Eye and the Orb of Agamotto," both artifacts suddenly appeared around Harry's neck as he spoke, "I can return them to Doctor Strange, so he can resume his duties, if that's what he wants."

Dr. Strange stood. "That's a generous offer, Harry," he said, bowing slightly in acknowledgement of Harry's offer. "But my concerns lie elsewhere at the moment. In fact, if you'll allow it, I would like to take the title of Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension."

Illyana groaned slightly. "Are you _still_ hung up on Clea, Doc?" she asked, incredulity in her voice. "Hasn't she hurt you _enough_?"

Strange looked at her almost apologetically. "I know there is good in her, Illyana. With Dormammu contained in your domain, I believe she will put behind her paranoia about her uncle and allow us to be together again, guiding the Dark Dimension to aid its inhabitants."

"I have no objection," Harry said, and began to remove the Eye and Orb. But Strange put up a hand, stopping him.

"No, Harry, I will not need those. They rightfully belong to the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, as they are artifacts of Agamotto, Earth's first Sorcerer Supreme. May you wear them proudly and with honor, in safeguarding the Earth."

Harry nodded in gratitude. "And I hope you and Clea reconcile quickly, and make the Dark Dimension one of light and love."

He turned to Superman. There were a lot of things he wanted to say to Clark, but he still felt bound by the Fidelius Charm, even if he was no longer constrained by it, not to say anything that could reveal Clark's identity as Superman, even though almost everyone present already knew who he was, except Ron and Hermione. "Do you have any objections, Superman?" he asked. "After all, you helped Dormammu defeat Clea and claim the Sorcerer Supreme titles for Earth and the Dark Dimension."

Superman shook his head. "I did nothing to help Dormammu, Harry — in fact I was fighting him every step of the way, after we returned to Earth. I knew what his evil plans were, after all. But Dormammu gained more and more control the longer we were back on Earth, until finally you came to understand I was no longer myself.

"I will be resuming my duties as Superman once again," he looked at Kara, who smiled affectionately back. "To help Supergirl in the battle for truth, justice and the way of righteousness. I wish you Rao speed in your new position as Sorcerer Supreme of Earth." He stood and offered his hand to Harry, who stood and accepted it, then stepped forward and hugged Clark in admiration and joy.

Harry stepped away from Superman, into the center of the room, and gestured. A moment later his jeans and T-shirt faded away, replaced with a red and gold wizards robe and cloak, the Eye and the Orb of Agamotto hanging proudly on his chest. "I accept the title of Sorcerer Supreme of Earth," he said, formally, feeling the magic flow into him, empowering him even more than before. It was a heady feeling, even more so than he'd felt when he'd first gained super-powers.

Everyone in the room was clapping, applauding his choice. Harry hoped it was the correct one. He caught Kara's eye, then extended a hand toward her. She reached out and took it. "We'll be back in a bit," Harry said, and he and Kara disappeared.

They reappeared in a place Harry was pretty sure would let them talk uninterrupted — in the Antarctic valley where Superman's Fortress of Solitude had been located. Dismantled after Lex Luthor had invaded it, gleaning information from the artificial construct of Clark's father, Jor-El, Luthor had turned the Fortress into a deathtrap for the Man of Steel — one that would have succeeded if not for Harry and the bravery he showed that day.

Harry was hoping a bit of that bravery would come back to him; he had something important to ask Kara. "This is probably a bad time to ask," he began, trying not to sound too uncertain or vague in breaching the subject with her, "but I wanted to know if you'd like to join me."

"Join you?" Kara repeated. "What do you mean, Harry?"

Already he was messing this up. "You know," he said, swallowing nervously. "As Sorcerer Supreme of Earth — would you like to help me with that task?"

Kara cocked her head to one side, studying him curiously. "I've already got a task, Harry — I'm Supergirl, remember?"

"Yeah, but —" Harry was trying to find the right words. Strange how tongue-tied he'd become now that he was actually trying to work out something permanent with Kara. "I — I wanted to know what you thought of becoming my — my apprentice."

"You mean, apprentice to the Sorcerer Supreme?" Kara's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Harry, I'm not a magical, you know — I don't have any magical ability _at all_."

"Neither did Dr. Strange, before he became Sorcerer Supreme," Harry argued. "He learned everything about magic from his mentor, the Ancient One."

"Harry…" Kara spoke hesitantly, as if she was afraid of disappointing him. "It's not that I don't appreciate your offer, but…I really just want to be Supergirl, for now."

Harry nodded. Her decision was not one he was happy with, but — "I understand, I guess. I really wanted to be a superhero for a while, to fly around like Clark, helping people and stopping disasters. But I just never got around to it, or even to talking to him about it. I shouldn't stop you from doing what you want to do…"

Kara reached out, touching the side of his face. "It's not like we're breaking up, Harry — I still want you in my life. I just want to live my own life as well." Harry nodded again. Things weren't working out like he'd hoped, but at least he'd still see Kara, sometimes, when they could find a moment together.

"I've gotten the impression from Dr. Strange that being Sorcerer Supreme is pretty much a full-time job," Harry told her. "And you're going to be busy, too, working with Clark to avert disasters and stop crime. I don't know how much time we'll have to be together."

"We'll _make_ time, Harry," Kara said, then hugged him. Harry hugged her back, enjoying the feel of her taut, trim body against his. "Just promise me one thing," she said, pulling away from him for a moment.

"Anything," Harry said, sincerely.

"Promise me you'll let me down easily when Ginny Weasley finally gets her hooks in you," Kara said, deadpan, through there was a smirk on her lips.

Harry laughed in spite of the apprehension that thought instilled in him. "Don't even _think_ about it," he said severely, wagging a finger at her. When she finished giggling he added, "We should be getting back to the others. I guess I have a universe to start guarding."

"And I have some disasters to avert and crime to stop," Kara replied, smiling. A moment later there was nothing but the cold, Antarctic winds swirling about where they had been standing.

The End, for now…

**Author's Note: Even though some have thought this story was a bit loosey goosey in its use of characters from multiple universes, I think it was an enjoyable trek. For now, with Superman back in action along with Supergirl, and Harry taking over as Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, the world is safe — at least until Luthor gets antsy again. Please review and let me know your final thoughts on the story and the ending. **

**The next story I'll be working on is "Harry Potter and the Vampire's Assistant." Its first chapter will go up two weeks after this one, on September 16, 2011. I am also thinking about a Harry Potter/Smallville crossover, which I'm working on as well.**


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